In Love and War unfinished
by Luna Manar
Summary: In an effort to bring Rinoa home, General Caraway demands the return of Angelo, who is legally under his possession. Rinoa and Squall return to Deling City, and both must help to solve a mystery older than time itself.
1. Day 1

In Love and War

(unfinished)

Written by Luna Manar

_"Part of me wants to call you up,_

_and talk to you like a friend_

_And there's a  part of me that wants to shut you out—_

_And never see your face again."_

Prologue

Hey Quistis!

Well, here I am again, writing to you for the sole purpose of whining at somebody. You probably noticed by now that Squall and I aren't at Balamb Garden. That's because we took a little trip, so don't worry—well, let me start at the beginning.

            You know what? I think some people do the wrong things for the right reason. And I don't just mean misjudged movie villains. I mean even everyday people; friends, relatives, even parents. Particularly parents. I guess they think they know what's best.

            I think Ca... I think my dad's been leaving me alone mostly because he knows about my being a sorceress. Ever since Cid told him about that, he hasn't spoken to me, which hasn't bothered me at all, to be honest. But I know he still wants me to come back and be his little girl. He just figured out that he couldn't get me to do that by talking to me, and that no one would try and back him up if he asked for help in it this time (it's not like the general public thinks I can't hold my own. My guess is the last time Caraway tried to convince someone ELSE that I should come home, they laughed in his face). ...So he sent me a message the other day—didn't really contact me, didn't come over here himself, just sent me a stupid _message—that he's sending some of his people to take Angelo back to Deling City. The REALLY STUPID thing is, he can do it. Angelo...actually belongs to him. Technically. Caraway bought him, so...if he wants Angelo back, I can't do anything about it without breaking the law. I'm going to do it, anyway, whether he likes it or not._

            I know why he sent me a message instead of talking to me. This way I don't have enough time to argue with him. I've tried to contact him, but he's always "away on business" every time I try to call in. Yeah, right. He's just conveniently not there. And he KNOWS this is going to get to me, he KNOWS how much Angelo means to me... And Angelo gets depressive and won't eat or drink or anything if I'm not somewhere nearby. If Angelo goes back to Deling City—unless I go with him—he's going to pine away and get really sick. It happened once when I left for a whole summer to start working on the Forest Owls. I had to come back home for a few days to get some things from my room, but when I got there I found out Angelo had been really, really sick for a whole month and no one knew what was wrong with him. So I ended up staying for a while, and he recovered in a couple weeks… When I left again I took him with me (without telling my dad, which I'm sure made him pretty mad to begin with).

            It isn't fair. It's manipulative, it's using Angelo to manipulate me, and it's just not fair. Don't think I didn't give the people who came to get _"my" dog a piece of my mind… _

Caraway's serious and I can't do anything about it...but I can't just let him DO this to me.

            I talked to Cid about it, and, since the...incident with Bahamut...Galbadia hasn't said a word or made a move. It's more than just retreating, I mean they haven't been doing ANYTHING, except a lot of construction in the center of their territory... I think Bahamut did a lot of damage and they're trying to reorganize themselves. But anyway, at least for a while, it doesn't look like Galbadia would attack even if they wanted to, so...when my dad's little henchmen came to get Angelo, I went with them, and I took Squall with me. I think my dad will expect to see me. I _don't think he'll expect to see Squall. Garden pretty much knows about us, now, but I can promise you my dad doesn't have a CLUE about Squall. All he knows is that SeeD defeated Ultimecia. He'd just remember Squall as the guy who he sent on a practical suicide mission to kill Edea._

            I'm not planning on using Squall to get back at my dad or anything. Actually, the reason I talked to Cid was because Squall wanted to go with me...he asked to, if I went. So...I'm not going to say no. Not as though I wouldn't want him to come anyway.

            I don't know what I'm going to do once we get there, though... I just don't know. I guess we'll think of something. I just...I don't want to see Caraway. I don't want to talk to him, I don't want to look at him. Every time I hear anything about him or from him he embarrasses me and disgusts me more. To play such a dirty trick on his own daughter just to get her to come home...it isn't right, and it's just... I hate it. It's almost as senseless as this whole stupid war. The only real difference is that no one dies. I just get hurt, and other people—Squall, Cid, my DOG, for goodness sake—get dragged into it...and it just makes me feel so horrible I want to scream.

            Sorry for dumping all this on you. It isn't your problem, but I had to say something to someone other than Squall, I guess. He already knows anyway. I don't like whining in person (so what do I do? I go whine in a letter somewhere)... 

            So we're on our way to Deling City right now. And right now, at least, I don't have anything better to d... Scratch that. I just got the "evil" look from Squall. (laugh)

There isn't much to tell right now, except that I had a grand time chewing out Herah, Claude and James (they're the nitwits my dad sent to come pick up Angelo). But of course that didn't really do anything to stop them from taking him. So here I am, sitting in the cargo bay of a Dollet seaship, in a windowless room with Squall and Angelo (it isn't like my dad was going to send tickets).

            It wouldn't be too bad if it weren't for a couple of things. One, this is no speed ship. We've been here since late last night, when they came to get Angelo (thought they could sneak by me just by coming late at night, huh?)…and it's getting sort of stuffy.

            Two, being in such close quarters for a whole night and day, we've just found out the hard way that Squall is slightly allergic to dogs. It never showed up before, but then again he's never been holed up in a tiny room with one before. So now he's grouchy because he can't stop sneezing and his eyes are all itchy. Plus he had to double as a pillow last night, which he wouldn't have minded at all if Angelo hadn't insisted on sleeping right next to me. I guess we now know what it's like to sleep with the dogs. Or one dog ("whatever").

            We're supposed to get there by this evening, but it seems like we've been in here forever already. "Just" three more hours, Squall says. I wish I had his patience for long rides. I'm about to go nuts, and I think he is, too, but he's just pretending not to be antsy. I'll tell you this much: Angelo's not the only one who's going to need a walk once we get there.

            There's not much left to tell you about...except, for some reason, I'm kind of scared. I don't know why... I don't know what there is to be scared of. I haven't said anything about it, and Squall hasn't mentioned it, but I'm sure he's felt it by now. I guess he doesn't know why, either. I'm not scared of Caraway. He's the biggest coward in the world and couldn't hold an honest debate with me for two minutes without chickening out and using his stupid "I'm your father, and I'm not going to discuss this with you anymore," escape route. He uses his position as a wall to hide behind when he feels like he's losing an argument. Like being a GENERAL makes him right. I still wonder why people call him "General." General nothing. More like a General Pain-In-The-Neck. 

This time, it's not just "Rinoa, come home," it's "Since you won't come home, your dog will." I wonder what his excuse is going to be this time.

            I'm even more curious about what he'll think when he sees Squall. The only thing he knows about Squall is that he was the leader of the SeeD group that was hired to kill Edea. Come to think of it, since we never went to his mansion after that, I wonder if he still thinks Squall is dead. After what happened to him on the float, I mean.

            Speaking of that...this a little off the subject, but I've wondered about it sometimes. I still don't really know what happened to Squall right after that night. Before we even went to the drill prison, I mean. Up until recently, I didn't think he remembered anything about it, himself. Now...I think he does remember, but he won't let himself think about it. More than any other memory, he avoids that and what happened to him in the drill prison the most…with the exception of the fight with Ultimecia, but I think that goes without saying. It's different than if he thought about it and just didn't say anything. Then I'd know more about it, but...he doesn't even let himself think about it. I know it bothers him, because he sort of inwardly cringes every time he sees Seifer. I can understand that, but I think it's more than just Seifer, I think it's everything that Seifer makes him remember. Or almost remember, I guess.

            The only time he ever talked about any of it was actually in a discussion he and Xu and I were having one night when we had some free time. We were sort of joking around with him about how many times he's "almost" died, and that he's just so stubborn about not getting killed, if the reaper came to him in person, Squall would probably just walk right past him and tell him to go "get a life." The fun part was he was actually playing along with it (strange as it sounds, Squall's very capable of kidding around when he wants to, as you know). We went off on a tangent and Xu was telling us about how she got her leg stuck in a miscast ice spell and couldn't move it again for a few days even after she got un-stuck, because her mind still hadn't registered the fact her foot wasn't frozen anymore. She said something about how annoying it was to have "cold feet" for days on end, and Squall was like, "Oh, man, don't talk to ME about 'cold.'" He had one of those smirks on his face that you can sort of tell, "it's not really funny at all, but I'm going to make like it's nothing." It's one of those situations where you'll laugh at the way something's said, but kind of nervously, because you were there and you know it really isn't something that's laughable. I don't know why he even said it. Usually if he doesn't want to talk about something, he won't bring it up even if he has something to say about it.

            Xu didn't really know what happened, so of course she HAD to ask why. I don't blame her, I mean, she didn't know, but I almost wish she hadn't asked because at the time it was something that I could hardly stand to think about. He sort of described what happened, but not in a lot of detail. Just enough so that Xu got the idea (I've noticed that people around here—well, Garden, at least—like to refer to getting taken out or killed in-action as getting "nailed." I wonder if there's a story behind that...). But the thing that surprised me was that he actually did answer her question. He said something to the effect of, "Shivering yourself to pieces isn't being cold. That's feeling cold. When your heart goes numb and your whole body stops, and you feel yourself freeze from the inside out until the air around you feels hot...then you'll know what I mean." Not those exact words, but something close. He didn't say anything else about it after that, and Xu was smart enough to change the subject. But ever since then I've wondered what really brought that on. Unless he'd WANTED to say it, he wouldn't have.

            I guess part of what made me think about it is that even though being in a little room with a dog that's giving him the sniffles is making him a little grouchy, he seems almost relieved that he's away from Garden. He's not showing it, but I can feel it from him. It's half the reason he asked to go with me in the first place. Ever since Seifer came back, Squall's been uncomfortable. They seem to avoid each other as much as possible. I wish it didn't have to be like that. But I haven't asked about it. Maybe I should. I just don't want to sound like a shrink (If there's ANYTHING Squall hates...).

            And you know, maybe the best time to talk to him about it is near the place where the whole thing happened. Maybe that's the reason I'm scared. 

--Rinoa

PS: Incidentally, I wonder what would happen if I actually pitched a temper tantrum at my dad—as I am now. It's kind of a funny image to think of Caraway having to duck a few levitating projectiles while I scream at him. Of course, it'd probably make a terrible mess, and I wouldn't want to send Squall running to hide behind a couch, too, so I don't think I'm going to make testing that theory out one of my priorities. At any rate, this pencil is wearing out, so I'd better stop. See you later, and I'll send this letter out as soon as I get the chance.

*

            Deling City—Dark, majestic. Antique in appearance, but advanced in design, it had once been the marvel of Galbadia, an ode to the empire's power and wrathful majesty. It was most glorious after sunset, when the lights of the inner city competed with the glow of the stars for possession of the night. Its inner gates and massive carousel clock had become the stuff of legend in this area of the world.

            It's once powerful army had dissolved into a smattering of hired hands. The carousel clock, once so exalted, was in terrible disrepair, and no longer graced the hours of nightfall with its magic and music. No one gave it so much as a second glance anymore, walking under the great gates of the once-powerful city and wondering about nothing more important than the grocery list and what time to pick up the kids from daycare. Graffiti decorated the watchtower and Castle Deling, and the subways were quiet and empty.

            Deling City was now a Relic—a has-been to be lost in history. It was the rusting steel crown of the conqueror Galbadia, treasured and mistreated by its current owners, the Dollet Dukedom. The government was now that of a pacifist republic; its capitalistic economy had suffered terribly in its new environment, and the once-Galbadian city had withered during the past two years from a bustling capital to a run-down, isolated community with few connections, and even fewer resources.

            And, as conspicuous as the nose on a clown, the Caraway Mansion stood tall and proud at the head of a crumbling capital, the laughable punch-line of an obscene political joke.

            Day 1 - Demands

            The opening of the door to one of the mansion's numerous living rooms gave General Caraway a start that almost caused him to spill his wineglass. He had been unusually tense these past few days, and for the very reason that was walking through the doorway the moment he turned around.

            He composed himself quickly, calming his demeanor. He nodded toward the young woman dressed in blue. She was watching him with an expression that was expectant, and nothing short of mildly disgusted. Nevertheless, he addressed her. "Rinoa. I'm glad you decided to come home—"

He was interrupted before he could say another word. Her voice was sharp and tart. "Yeah, sure. Out of curiosity, do you ship all your relatives first class?"

            Caraway sighed sadly and shook his head, turning away from his daughter's dark eyes in a vain attempt to escape them. But this did nothing to negate her stabbing remark, and the stare of her narrow-edged eyes plunged through his back like a thousand knives. "I see you're still yourself," he answered lamely, avoiding her question. He set his glass down on one of the cherry wood coffee tables.

            "Sell Angelo to me."

            This made him face her again, and quickly, as though he'd just heard an explosion from where she stood. "Rinoa, this is—"

            "I have the money to buy him from you and then some. You want to avoid a problem," she leaned forward a little, hands on her hips, as though scolding him, "so let me take care of him. It's easier that way."

            Caraway rubbed at his temples with two fingers and his thumb. "I'm afraid…it is just not that _simple, Rinoa. There are insurance matters to be discussed and records to be transferred."_

            "Fine. Then we'll stay here for as long as it takes to get all that cleared up." She turned to leave.

            His brow furrowed, Caraway dared reach out toward her, but pulled his hand back before it even neared her. "Rinoa, who is 'we?'" He stayed himself completely when she turned around again. 

            "Squall and I," she said flatly, as though he should have known the answer years ago to begin with.

            Squall. The name rang a bell in Caraway's head. It took him a moment of staring mutely at Rinoa before recognition filtered onto his face. "Squall. The SeeD agent that led the assassination attempt last year?"

            "Right on." There was nothing at all complimentary about Rinoa's tone.

            Caraway frowned and shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous. Squall Leonhart, isn't it? That boy is dead, Rinoa. Surely you know that."

            "Oh, I know what you're talking about. I was there, remember? But Squall isn't dead. He's downstairs in the lobby." She paused long enough to note Caraway's skeptical gaze, then sighed irritably. "If you don't believe me, you can go look for yourself." She turned around again and walked out the door, moving, she hoped, too quickly for Caraway to easily keep up.

            It was nothing less than strange to Caraway, seeing Squall for a second time, with his own eyes to prove the SeeD was indeed still alive and breathing. The "general" was tempted to ask how someone could possibly survive such an injury as Squall had suffered at the hands of Edea, but tactfully refrained from doing so, choosing instead to approach him with all hospitality. 

Rinoa watched with her arms folded from a few feet away, silent as stone, as Caraway strode importantly over to the cushioned bench that Squall was nearly slouching in, in what was typical of his manner so far as Caraway could gather. The general stood before his "guest," offered his hand. "Squall Leonhart. A pleasant surprise to see you well."

            Squall sat up a little and acknowledged Caraway with a look and a nod, but did not take the offered hand. 

            Caraway let his arm drop to his side with a deceptively comfortable smile. "I assume you are Rinoa's escort?"

            The SeeD's face almost betrayed a smirk. Almost. "Something like that."

            "Ah. You must be held in great esteem, for Rinoa to pay so highly for such a bodyguard."

            Squall sat up completely at this, even leaned back in his seat, said in all grave seriousness, "I'm not getting money for it." He made a hard point of making eye-contact. Certainly he was sincere. "This isn't an assignment."

            "Oh…" This came as a surprise to Caraway, who made no attempt not to show it. "I see. You…_chose to accompany Rinoa."_

            Squall saw no point in confirming the obvious.

            A sharp bark interrupted this uncomfortable exchange, causing all to look toward one of the adjoining rooms. 

            Angelo bounded happily through the open doorway, folded ears bouncing. He padded blithely over to Rinoa, whose unnatural scowl faded away at the sight of him. She knelt to ruffle the dog's bushy mane. She whispered something to the animal, who responded by sitting on his haunches with a soft "wuf." Then she cast a vicious glare at Caraway, who ceased watching the little spectacle upon receiving the silent rebuke. Once certain Caraway had been sufficiently scolded, Rinoa looked over toward Squall, who did not look back, though he knew he was being eyed. _I don't want to leave him here, she told him silently, firmly.__ Not with Caraway._

_            Squall responded to the mental commentary by rubbing briefly at his forehead. He pretended to daydream while he answered in kind. __I know._

_But?_

_I don't think one night here will kill him._

Rinoa looked sadly into Angelo's bright black eyes, which beamed gleefully at her. _I guess you're right. _

Not understanding her worried expression, Angelo put his front paws up in the air in his best impression of a 'don't shoot!'

Rinoa grinned and took the outstretched paws, in doing so creating a small steeple between them. "I have to go for now, but I'll be back tomorrow, okay? We'll get out of this old house for the day. You can be the dog about town tomorrow. Right?" She let go of Angelo's paws and stood up as he barked agreeably. 

"You're not staying here?" Caraway's question actually sounded somewhat worried. Rinoa hardly noticed.

"No, we're not. I'll be back to take Angelo for a walk tomorrow morning sometime." She gave the dog a last rub between the ears and turned for the door. Squall stood up silently and followed close behind her.

Caraway stepped after them nervously. "Rinoa—"

Exasperated, Rinoa stopped and spun around where she was. She glared around Squall at Caraway. "I'm not going to run off with Angelo without telling you. Don't wind yourself in a knot about it." Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she turned back around and opened the door, slipping outside before it had swung even halfway wide. 

Angelo sat where he was and watched them go, gave a quiet, quizzical whine when Squall glanced back over his shoulder before leaving. 

If Squall could have answered the dog's question, he would have. If Caraway had the same question on his face, Squall hadn't seen it, for he hadn't looked. 

As it was, he didn't know the answer, himself.


	2. Day 2--A Dry Case

            Day 2 – A Dry Case

"I feel like a moron. I'm a SeeD, not a goddamn coat rack."

            Squall fumbled to keep one of the multitude of hangers he was carrying from slipping off the ends of his fingers. 

            Rinoa was still searching through the spring section of one of Deling City's casual clothing stores—the same section she had been searching through for the past twenty minutes. "If we're going to stay here for who-knows-how-long, I'm not going to be wearing the same thing over and over again every day."

            "So grab a couple shirts and stuff and let's go! This is boring as hell."

            "Are you kidding? I at least have to make sure they fit."

            "Yeah, well, you've been making sure for over an hour. I'm the one who ends up carrying all this crap, you know." Bored and restless, Squall shifted from one foot to the other, needing to move in some way. 

            "Oh, a bag and a few hangers and you're whining up a storm."

            Squall's eyebrows shot up. "A _few?" He held up his arms a little higher, displaying the numerous half-decided-on garments that lined his arms, one large paper bag full of similar articles dangling from one hand, all of which Rinoa had entrusted to him. "You call this a __few? Rinoa, I could jump off a cliff and __fly with all this stuff on my arms." He shook his arms slightly, causing the clothes he carried to waver, giving him the appearance of having a makeshift pair of wings._

            Rinoa watched him do this, paused for a brief moment before her face broke into a wide grin. She couldn't help the laughter that followed.   
            Squall didn't seem amused. "_What."_

            Rinoa kept giggling and pointed at him, a hand going to her mouth. "You…you _do look kind of silly." She shook her head as she said this. "With all the bright colors, you look…you look like you're wearing a…half finished costume of…a parrot or something." She laughed harder._

            "Oh, man…" Squall let his arms down as much as was possible without losing any of his burden. "Fine. Just…let's finish this as fast as we can, okay?"

            "Well, we still have to get _you something to w—"_

            "For_get it."_

            Rinoa added another might-be to Squall's left arm. "You can't talk. You are the _epitome of no wardrobe whatsoever." _

            "I just wear what I need. I don't go ballistic trying to decide which _socks look the best."_

            "You've been in that Garden for _way too long."_

            "We've been in this _store for way__ too long!" Squall struggled to follow Rinoa through a narrow aisle. "And __I'm the one who's paying for this stuff, you know."_

            "Oh, please. You could buy a house twice the size of mine and still have enough for five people to retire on and live like kings." 

            "I don't know about _that, but that's not the point," he snarled helplessly. _

            Still not turning to face him, Rinoa scrutinized two short-sleeves, one yellow and one blue. "Okay, how about this: We'll finish up in this store and go back to the hotel. We can get yours tomorrow."

            "Fine." The reply wasn't terribly enthusiastic.        

            It was late evening when Squall and Rinoa actually left the store (it had been just after noon when they'd gone in). Angelo had been waiting just outside the store doors, curled up comfortably by the wall, when Rinoa and Squall had come out of the suffocating building. Few people who passed him took any notice; stray dogs were uncommon, but not unheard of in Deling City.

No longer burdened by dozens of hangers, and hideously glad to be out of that building, Squall was caught between a bad mood and an almost giddy relief at having Rinoa's shopping (mostly) done and over with. And did he need to _move. Locked up in a cargo hold for two days, sleeping in until almost eleven and standing around all day looking like The Fashion Scarecrow from Hell, his entire body was ready to shake itself to pieces with restlessness. There was no training area here, though. He was having trouble thinking of something else that he could do __here that was a suitable substitute. It was bothering him. _

            Angelo, who had been out and about, free to roam where he pleased for most of the day, trotted along happily at Squall's side, which Squall found unusual; usually Angelo stayed by Rinoa. He supposed it wasn't much of a distance difference, and dismissed the dim curiosity.

            The trip to the hotel room was uneventful (as the entire day had been) and short (as the entire day had _not been), and the near-absolute silence that greeted Squall when he opened the door was not quite a smack in the face. Not that he was partial to noise, but the intense quiet of the hotel room reminded him just how badly he needed to get out and move. __I need to get out of here. _

He put one of the heavier bags he was carrying in the way of the door sensor, wary of the possibility of it closing in Rinoa's face when she caught up. Once she got through the door, Squall was already standing by the window at the far side of the room, staring through the paned glass out over the evening city, which was gradually brightening to its nighttime splendor. She took the bag he'd left in the doorway and hauled it over next to the other bags she'd carried in. The door slid shut behind her. 

            Wasting no more time, Rinoa plodded over to the bed and let herself fall backward onto it, laying limp with her arms spread and her eyes closed. "I…am so _tired."_

            Squall folded his arms and continued staring out the window. 

            Rinoa let her head loll to the side and she opened her eyes, watching him. She smiled a little. "That was the _last thing you wanted to hear, wasn't it?"_

            "I don't care what you do. Just don't expect me to stay hanging around for much longer." The bad mood had won out.

            Sitting up on the bed and pulling her legs to her chest, Rinoa thought for a moment. The last thing she wanted to sleep next to tonight was a restless, _grouchy Squall. "You could take Angelo for a walk," she suggested. _

            "Hasn't he been out all day?"

            "Yes, but not with anybody. He likes company." Rinoa grinned. "And he won't let you go around with a black cloud over your head, _Squall or no Squall." _

            "Maybe. I don't know…"

            "Come on." Rinoa found strength enough to hop off the bed and come up behind him. She didn't hug him or cling to him—she knew the last thing he wanted to be right now was romantic—but put a hand on his shoulder, peeking around it and smiling at him. "You never know until you try, right?"

            Squall turned his head enough to look down at her. "I guess so." And shortly thereafter, "Yeah, sure." He shrugged her away and glanced out the window one more time before turning around. "Why not." He walked to the door and Rinoa followed him. He turned around at the door to face her before he left. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

            She nodded. "Okay…but I have to say it—be careful."

            "Yeah, I will." Without any other comment, Squall left the hotel room. Rinoa went back to the window, and before closing the curtains, stared out over the darkening horizon. She wondered for a moment what, if anything, Squall had been looking at. 

            Squall didn't even look at Angelo as he walked out the hotel's front doors, just made a beckoning gesture with his arm and muttered, "Come on." 

            Angelo responded to the vague command nonetheless and fell into a happy, long-tongued prance by Squall's side as he turned to the right, following the lamp-lined walkway in the direction of Caraway's house. He'd eventually end up having to go there, anyway. Rinoa's suggestion had held an underlying request to take Angelo "home" so she wouldn't have to. Squall didn't mind—it gave him something to do—but he found himself not really feeling like taking the stroll to the mansion just now. He stopped just across the street from the entrance, however, and stared idly at the magnificent house. 

            Angelo barked at him.

            Squall looked down to see the dog staring up at him with wide, plaintive eyes. Angelo sat down on his haunches. 

"What is it?" 

Another bark was his answer. 

            Squall sighed and crouched, bringing himself to eye level with Angelo. "Let's get something straight," he spoke quietly, as though not wanting anyone else to hear him talk intelligently to a dog. "I don't speak or understand canine-ese or whatever the hell it is you're woofin' at me right now.  If you wanna tell me something, you have to show me. Got it?"

            Angelo made a quiet "gruff" and turned around, promptly disappearing into a thick row of bushes lining that part of the sidewalk.

            _Now what have I done? Squall stood up, inwardly cursing himself. The last thing he wanted was to have to push through a bunch of bushes chasing after a dog. He looked around to see if anyone was nearby, saw no one, and raised his voice tentatively. "Angelo?" Again he glanced around him. __I feel like an idiot. "Angelo? Come on, I told Rinoa I'd be back in an hour." Foolish as it made him feel, Squall knew the dog understood a great deal of human words. He saw the bushes shudder here and there as Angelo rummaged around, apparently looking—or rather, sniffing—for something. "__Angelo!"_

            Moments after the third, much more impatient summons, Angelo crawled out from the bushes, shaking himself to rid his fur of clinging twigs, and trotted up to Squall, who watched as the dog dropped a fist-sized, dull red plastic ball at his feet. The big black eyes pleaded with him again.

            Squall returned the gaze skeptically. "You're kidding, right?"

            Angelo whined, high-pitched and plaintive.

            Squall winced at the pitch. "Ow. Stop that." When Angelo only continued the pitiful, painful whimper, Squall sank to a crouch again and put a hand over the dog's muzzle. "Okay. Just a few minutes, though." Carefully picking up the ball that had been presented to him and finding it amazingly free of dog slobber, he looked around him again, this time searching for a place to throw the ball. The first thing that came to mind was the yard across and not too far down the road from Caraway's mansion. _Probably not supposed to step on the grass there… But who cared? __I'm on vacation. He could afford to break a rule or two. It would only be for a few minutes, anyway. It wasn't as though he was going on a picnic._

            He picked up an almost hurried pace, heading for the relatively isolated yards, Angelo close behind and already making token jumps for the ball, which Squall was holding—very pointedly—just out of reach. 

            By the time they'd reached the small bridge leading to the pathway between the two open yards, Angelo had worked himself into a near-tailchasing frenzy, was jumping at every given opportunity at the ball that continually eluded his reach by inches. The dog was on the verge of attempting to knock his frustration over when they reached the grassy expanse, and Squall made short work of ridding himself of the toy, throwing it casually to the other end of the yard. He watched calmly as Angelo sprinted after the fleeing sphere. 

Briefly it occurred to him that nothing had actually been done today in the way of "negotiating" with General Caraway. He supposed Rinoa had wanted to make herself comfortable—apparently they would be staying here a while—before dirtying herself with Caraway's presence. He suspected, though, that today's drab schedule had been half procrastination. He knew how much Rinoa hated dealing with her father for any reason, much less to try and argue Angelo away from him. 

Angelo returned with the ball, interrupting Squall's thoughts, and stood in the pale violet-and-blue florescent illumination that lit the dark yard. Toy in mouth, he had stopped a few feet away from Squall, who looked on with vague interest. Having expected the animal to bring the ball all the way to him Squall took the two extra steps and bent enough to take the ball from Angelo's mouth.

Angelo didn't let go.

_Come on, dog, you wanted me to throw the stupid thing… Squall again tried to wrest the toy from Angelo, but was answered only by a low growl and did not succeed in breaking the dog's hold. He smirked, suddenly understanding the game. "If you don't let go, I can't throw it again—" He suddenly recalled a single word Rinoa had used earlier, the day before. "—right?"_

Angelo gave a little bark, in doing so loosened the grip on the ball, which Squall instantly snatched away and stood up, quickly taking a couple steps back and holding the ball up out of Angelo's reach while the dog yipped again and pursued, hopping and jumping and snapping and barking in mock defiance of being fooled.

It was enough to cause a slight smile in Squall's eyes, if not his face. "You're a sucker, you know that? A real sucker." Angelo barked again and made another leap for the ball, a lunge that Squall dodged, backing away a little faster and keeping the ball held high above him. Angelo chased after him, barking and bounding and grinning, folded ears almost standing straight in excitement. "You're not so tough," Squall taunted. "Can't jump worth anything. Look at that. Seifer wannabe." Angelo barked some more, and Squall found himself having to do some honest maneuvering to keep the dog from knocking him over. "Some regal purebred you are. Can't even get a ball." Some part of him admitted that this little game was kind of fun. 

Suddenly Angelo came away from one leap and turned on a dime, rushing at Squall so quickly the SeeD nearly toppled himself trying to avoid being knocked over. Flailing his arms for a moment to keep his balance, he let go of the ball, which Angelo darted for and caught before the plastic toy had a chance to touch the ground. 

            Now it was Squall's turn to chase after Angelo, though he had little intention of making a fool of himself while doing it. He stood where he was, watching Angelo jump about and dart back and forth in front of him. Obviously there was no way to outrun him. He seemed to be gloating victory in the lovably foolish little dance of canine abandon. 

"If you think you're gonna get me to hop around barking like a moron over a stupid ball, you're crazy."

            With a disappointed half-whine, half-yowl, Angelo stopped his victory prance and trotted a few feet toward Squall, dropped the ball on the ground, then backed away, licking his nose, until the ball was about halfway between them. 

            Squall shrugged a little. "What?" 

            Angelo looked at the ball he'd dropped, then back up at Squall, and whined.

            "No way. You're faster than I am."

            Angelo backed up a few more paces. 

            Not for the first time, Squall wondered at the idea that he was speaking intelligently to, and more, being understood by, a dog. "I guess you don't know what Kick the Can is, do you?"

            Angelo stopped panting, stared blankly.

            "Didn't think so." Taking advantage of Angelo's momentary confusion, Squall bolted for the ball, bending only enough to pick it up as he passed it. It didn't take a split second for Angelo to recover from the surprise, and he, too, sprinted for the coveted toy.

            As it happened, both Squall and Angelo reached it at the same time. 

            As a hand closed around the little sphere, so too did canine teeth. And, as the laws of physics so state, an object in motion stays in motion until acted upon by an equal and opposite force. Being no exception to this rule, the ball stayed in basically the same place it had been. Angelo and Squall, also subject to this law and that of gravity, simultaneously jerked to a halt and lost their footing. Both sprawled on the ground for a brief moment, Squall's hand still outstretched and holding onto the ball, Angelo's teeth still bared to the same purpose. Neither let go. Squall rolled upright and stood, in the process hauling a snuffling, snarling Angelo to his feet. 

            Angelo dug his nails into the ground and pulled on the ball. Squall planted his feet and stubbornly held onto it. "You can do better than that. Come on, I'm not even trying_."_

            Angelo growled louder and yanked on the prize, twisting his head back and forth, pulling the ball from side to side, trying to wrestle it away. 

Squall reinforced his grip with his other hand and pulled back, forcing Angelo forward but doing nothing to loosen his hold. "Let go, you damn dog." He smirked devilishly and jerked to one side. Angelo held on, snarled loudly and brandished his head vigorously, trying to shake away Squall's grip. None of these tactics worked. 

For some reason he couldn't begin to fathom, Squall found himself cracking a smile. It had just occurred to him that he was struggling over a dirty old ball with his girlfriend's dog. It struck him as utterly hilarious, and he fueled his next heave in his little tug-of-war with a slight grin and a faint laugh. "C'mon, I can't throw it if you've got your teeth in it." 

Angelo himself seemed to think little of it, became a little more adamant about jerking the toy away from Squall, who found himself suddenly pulled forward and having to plant his feet again to keep from losing ground and falling over. Finding it difficult to keep his footing while having to continuously bend on account of Angelo's far shorter height, Squall crouched on one knee, anchoring himself to the ground with his heel and pulling back, again dragging Angelo forward. 

In another moment, he was tumbling, his own strength carrying him backward as Angelo abruptly released the ball. The next thing Squall knew, he was fending off a snarling "attack" from the dog; Angelo had both front paws planted firmly on his chest, and was play-biting at the arm that was only half-attempting to push the grinning, growling jaws away. Squall let go of the ball, but Angelo ignored it, focusing instead on pretending to be vicious. 

Squall laughed, only half-fighting, and grimaced when Angelo's wet tongue assaulted his face. He pushed away the furry muzzle. "Get off me, you stupid mutt." He snickered and spoke at once.

Angelo stopped his merciless attack, but still stood defiantly with front paws on Squall's chest, grinning down at him. 

"Okay," Squall relented, squinting, still half-smiling. "You win. I'm down. You got me." He brought his hands up beside his head in defeat. With a sharp bark, Angelo backed off and watched as Squall sat up to brush the grass from his hair and jacket. Squall stared back wryly, still with a hint of a smile. He pulled up one knee and casually rested an arm over it. _Rinoa wasn't kidding… He reflected on what she had told him about Angelo not letting him stalk around in a bad mood. Angelo trotted over to stand next to him, resumed affections on Squall's cheek. Squall leaned back in an attempt to escape being slobbered on. "Quit kissin' me." He took hold of the mane on either side of the furry neck, just behind the ears, and held Angelo in place so he could meet the dog's bright black-eyed stare. "I like you, too…" With the back of one hand, he wiped the side of his face, "…just not __that much." Angelo whimpered, but quietly, not the ear-piercing whine from before. _

For some reason, Squall felt an abrupt pang of uneasiness tug at him as he sat face-to-face with that furry muzzle. He suddenly had an intense hope that Rinoa would find a way to keep Angelo. That they'd take him back to Balamb Garden and not have to worry about any more of this foolishness. Of course he'd hoped that anyway, but before it was mostly because he knew how much Angelo meant to Rinoa. Now, he found _himself aching at the idea of losing the dog. He'd never really considered Angelo to be anything more than a sort of cherished familiar of Rinoa's. He was used to Angelo, but he hadn't realized until now that there was an honest care in him for the animal, as well. He supposed he hadn't noticed it until now because he'd unconsciously assumed that the dog's presence was a given constant, and he had never actually entertained or even thought about the notion of losing him. He'd never really interacted much with Angelo. Usually Rinoa was the one that centered the dog's attention. Squall, on the other hand, had never thought of himself as much of a "dog person," in the first place._

Now, staring into the eyes of what he used to believe was a pet, Squall began to understand the reason Rinoa was so upset about having Angelo taken from her. It wasn't a question of whose dog Angelo was. More than a pet, Angelo was a friend, and Caraway had recalled that friend on a basis of ownership. 

So Rinoa's reason for being so angry about the whole thing was two-fold: She didn't want to lose Angelo, and on top of that, what right did Caraway, or for that matter, anyone, have to claim ownership of a living creature?

Squall nodded to himself, absently ruffling the fur of Angelo's scruff. The dog responded by nosing his way under the outstretched arm, staring up with star-black eyes and uttering that plaintive whimper again. Squall allowed himself some empathy and a slight, smirk-ish smile. Angelo was intelligent, and knew that something was amiss, but couldn't quite understand just what the problem was. No one was hurt, no one was in danger. 

Did he know he was owned by law, under the legal possession of Caraway Heartilly? Maybe not, but it was clear Angelo knew it all had to do with himself, and that it was a very bad situation. 

Slowly standing, brushing himself off, Squall glanced in the direction of Caraway's mansion. His solemn eyes narrowed. He still had to take Angelo back, even if he didn't like the idea. He looked down to see the pleading eyes again, and knelt beside the dog, giving a reassuring pat to the half-pricked ears. "Hey, don't worry about it." He stood again, playfully clipping Angelo upside the nose with his hand as he did so. "If Caraway thinks he's really gonna keep you, he's got it coming to him. Rinoa wouldn't quit on you, right?"

The panting smile returned along with a staccato bark. 

"I still have to take you home, though, so come on." Although he did a good job of sounding certain of himself, Squall had to force the hollow words. 

Home. Whatever. 

One had to give General Caraway credit for his own personal efficiency. Despite the enormous size of his house, he'd tactfully placed his bedroom on the first floor, for the sole reason that it wouldn't take him forever to reach the front door, should someone choose to knock at some ungodly hour (Caraway loathed butlers for reasons he refused to give). 

It was an observation Squall had made earlier, sitting bored in the lobby of the mansion. This absent thought came to mind when he finally reached the mansion's front entrance. It wasn't very relevant, though; it was not too late at night, nor was Caraway asleep or even in night attire when he answered the front door that had clacked a brief rhythmic summons. Caraway seemed a little surprised to see Squall at the front doorstep. Perhaps he'd been expecting Rinoa. 

"Came to return your dog," Squall explained simply. 

Caraway watched as, being thus announced, Angelo padded through the doorway, disappearing quickly up one flight of steps, into some unseen room to the left of the stairwell.

Composing himself, the general faced Squall again and nodded. "Thank you." Then, after a brief, cautious pause in which he somehow made it clear that he was about to speak again, "Dare I ask where Rinoa is now?"

Squall saw no reason not to answer him. He motioned behind him, vaguely in the direction of the market area. "Back at the hotel." 

"You do know you're perfectly welcome to stay here. Even if Rinoa refuses to, I see no reason why you should pay the extra money for your own room. Please. I've heard that hotel is ridiculously expe—"

Geez,_ this guy is a weasel. "Don't worry about it," Squall interrupted him before he could finish. He was beginning to get very uncomfortable with where this conversation seemed to be going. "Look, I've got to get back to our room." __Damn it. He saw Caraway's eyes squint, and realized his slip too late. __Should've said my __room. Can't do anything about it, now. Without any pause to indicate he'd given his words a second thought, he shook his head and continued, making a flippant motion with his hand. "I don't need your hospitality. I just came to return your dog." He was on the verge of dismissing himself. _

"I… I see." 

Caraway was uncharacteristically nervous. The general's eyes were dilated, too much even for the relative darkness outside, and kept darting to the side every now and again. His hands hung clasped in front of him, he held himself purposely, almost rigidly straight, a seemingly formal stance. _Too polite, Squall decided,__ too discreet, and nervous as hell._

"Well then, Squall, I thank you." 

Squall folded his arms uncomfortably and avoided Caraway's stare. "Yeah. No problem…"

            "Good night, then." Caraway bowed slightly. 

Squall didn't return the favor, turned and started back down the walkway. He heard the door close behind him, but oddly, no locks clicked in place. _Either he's got a really good security system, or he's not worried about keeping people out. He stopped, looked over his shoulder at the door. He remembered Caraway's apparent surprise when he had appeared at the doorstep, and the his slightly distracted attention when they had been talking. __Or he's expecting someone. _

Sufficiently unsettled, Squall stood where he was a moment, thinking. _Funny how he tried to get me to stay. Squall had showed up unannounced, and Caraway hadn't liked it one bit. __If he's figured out that Rinoa and I are together, I could see why he might try to keep me away from her. He's her dad, after all. But why the hell would he invite me into his house? That guy doesn't make any sense __to me. He began walking again toward the more brightly lit sidewalk. He'd decided to go back to the hotel anyway. Whatever it was, there wasn't much he could do about it, and as long as it didn't harm Rinoa, as far as he was concerned, it was none of his business anyway. He made a mental note about what he'd seen and heard, however. Who knew what might be important later on?_

Just as he'd reached the curb, Squall stopped in mid-stride, his entire body stiffened with a sudden terror that wasn't his own. His wide-eyed gaze shot up to the tall hotel building. _Rinoa! He hardly had time to mentally scream her name before a savage red light flashed within one of the windows on the third level of the hotel. A ricocheting roar accompanied the blast—Squall recognized it as a magical explosion—as it tore through the side of the building, sending shattered pieces of the window twinkling like razor-edged stars to the ground below. _

Without a moment of consideration, Squall sprinted for the hotel, ignoring the shouts of a few people as he pushed past them.

"Yo, watch it—" 

"Stupid punk—"

"Hey buddy, the exit's _that way—"_

"Hey loser, you're goin' the wrong way—"

"The hell you _doing?!"_

"Being a goddamn hero,"_ Squall muttered inadvertently, such that only he could hear the heavy sarcasm in his answer. He knew there was nothing to be a hero about. At this point, the damage was done. Screw the town. He wasn't out to save anything. He just wanted to get to Rinoa. __Why do these things happen to me? _

Or, he added to himself without really thinking it, to Rinoa, for that matter?

A man who had seen Squall with Rinoa in the shopping center earlier that day (bumped into them in fact), recognized Squall as he stopped short directly below the now blazing room. The SeeD paused, staring up at the flames for a moment, seeming to calculate something in his head. The man yelled at him over the roar of flames above, despite he was only feet away. "If your girl was in there, she's dead now, man."

"She's not dead," Squall snapped, glancing at his offender. He stared up at the blaze again, figuring in his head the best route to the room. _Stay there. I'm coming up._

"How the _hell do you know that?"_

"If she was dead, I would be, too." He said this more to reassure himself than to answer the question. He left the man befuddled, rushed toward the doors of the hotel. He made no effort to conceal the fact he was going in. There were more shouts, all in unison, overlapping each other: 

"Are you crazy?!"

"You're a freakin' _lunatic, man!" _

"That place'll fall down any minute!" 

He hurried through the doors, ignored the confused people who cowered in corners. They'd heard the explosion. It had sounded great enough to have blown the place apart. They all thought it would bring the old building down. 

Having recognized the fire for a magical one, Squall ignored the idea of stairs; the building itself was safe, and the elevator could move faster than he could climb. True to its purpose, the lift brought him to the third floor quickly. He had to push past a number of other guests—who had come out of their rooms to investigate the terrible sound they'd heard—to get to the door of the burning room. To his frustration, the lock mechanism had been rendered useless, and he threw his key card to the floor. The spectators, thankfully, stayed where they were. He didn't want anyone offering to help. Not in the condition he knew Rinoa was in.

Working on the hope that the magnetic lock had been shot as well, Squall pried at the edge of the door. Driven by his own urgency and by Rinoa's terror reverberating through him, he managed, after two unsuccessful attempts, to force the sliding door open a little. He squeezed himself through the tight opening. He hardly thought about the barricading spell he cast to be sure no one followed him through the door. All he could think about was Rinoa.

The room had been torn and gutted by the explosion. Here and there fire still clung to the floor, but the wall with the window had been blasted away completely, exposing the cool night beyond. Whatever furnishings that had been in the room were gone, incinerated. The place had been utterly purged of its contents.

Save for a young sorceress who sat pressed against the wall just beyond the short entrance way, facing the blasted opening, crouching within a thin, transparent half-dome of magical shielding which crackled and faded just as Squall rounded the corner. Instantly, he crouched beside her, embraced her tightly and protectively as she likewise clung to him, shaking. She seemed untouched by the heat, but her mind was ajumble, her thoughts too unclear for Squall to completely understand. She recognized him, but him only, and only in the instinctive sense that he was safe when the rest of the world was not. 

"Rinoa, I'm here." His whisper was gentle, careful, coaxing. He'd seen her this way once before, when a spell had backfired on her. Her mind was in shock from magical backwash. In this condition she was almost completely incoherent. He had to pull her out of it before someone saw her. If one person figured out The Sorceress was in town, then everyone would know, and it would cause more problems than Squall cared to deal with. 

Her mind was too confused for him to reach her through thoughts alone, but his voice coaxed her gently. "Come on. Pull yourself together. You're okay." He tilted her head up with a gentle hand, gazing straight into eyes that were wide and frightened and wild. He blinked slowly, a calming effect within her chaotic mind. "It's over. I'm here. You're okay," he repeated firmly. 

Some clarity of thought began to untangle itself in Rinoa's mind, and her expression slowly sobered, though she still stared blankly at him, as if mesmerized by his calm, beckoning stare. 

_Come on, he thought to her, tentatively as one might encourage a small child to come to them from the other side of a dark, frightening room. "Talk to me." Worry creased his scarred brow. He kept his gaze locked with hers, made certain she knew it was him. __Eyes on me, Rinoa…come back. I'm here. There's no more danger. Come on, __now, come back to me… "Come on…" _

The twisted knot that had been Rinoa's state of mind slowly unwound, and comprehension returned to her face in the form of tears. 

Squall felt her coherency return to her, saw recognition in her eyes just before she wrapped her arms around his neck and hid her face in his shoulder. He held her silently, at first, his only words in her mind, his presence in her soul as reassuring as the thoughts he sent to her. _I'm here… I've got you. In answer to his thoughts, repeated to her over and again, she clung to him tighter, so much it almost hurt.___

Her soul reached out and embraced his, held desperately onto the comfort of his presence. Squall found himself frozen in mid-breath by the suddenness of the sensation, not physical or emotional, but somehow a combination of both, pulling him, gently taking command of him in the space of an instant. He felt her emotions with an intensity that overwhelmed him, surrendered to the enveloping power without hesitation or resistance.

For all his strength of will, even if he had wanted to, Squall couldn't let go of her, couldn't move at all. For a frightening, wonderful moment, she had him trapped in an embrace he hadn't the ability to question or protest, her wish a gentle command he had no choice but to obey. His eyes closed, his head bowed to rest lightly on her hair. He stayed still, holding her in silent, determined acquiescence, a dark knight crouched protectively beside her, to hold her for eternity if that is what she wished of him.

She released him again, her mind clearing enough to think through her instinctive fear. They shivered in unison, but for different reasons, slowly easing their embrace so that they could look at each other again. 

This time it was Rinoa whispering to a tranquilized Squall, who recovered himself quickly as she apologized, "I'm sorry…"

Squall nodded. "Don't worry about it. You were scared as hell."

"I still am." Rinoa again tucked her face into Squall's shoulder. "It wasn't me, Squall, I didn't… It wasn't me…" Her voice faded to a whimper.

"I know." He held her briefly, but reason had returned to him and forced him to consider the circumstances. He knew that hardly a few minutes had passed since he entered the room, though it had seemed so much longer. In those few minutes, a policing unit had gathered outside and would undoubtedly make their way into the building to investigate this mess. "Come on," his voice raised only a little. "We have to get out of here. You can tell me what happened later." He scowled darkly as they helped each other to slowly stand. _You have to rest. After that… He looked over his shoulder, out the huge, blackened hole that used to be a wall. "After that I think I need to have a talk with Caraway," he finished aloud._

Rinoa frowned. "Why?"

"I don't know what happened, here," Squall motioned at the devastated room, "and I don't know why, either." His expression was angry, dark, but didn't frighten her even when he turned to meet her eyes. His voice, if not his eyes, seemed sad, almost apologetic as he snarled, "But I _do think that Caraway knew it was coming."_

If looks could kill, Caraway would have been brutally murdered by the heart-piercing stare Squall was giving him.

The SeeD had come in silent as a rock, carrying on his face a merciless stare, walked quickly and resolutely to the center of the room where Caraway had been standing to face the general, barely more than an arm's length away. Caraway had been glad for that distance; Squall had looked ready to hit him then and there, had he come within reach. No doubt the SeeD's own self-discipline had kept him from giving himself the opportunity to do so. When the general had said nothing to him, Squall had turned on his heel and walked to the couch, where he'd sat down, calm as could be, propped his elbows on his knees, clasped one fist over the other and rested his chin in the cradle of his thumbs, such that only his eyes stared lividly at Caraway over the tops of his hands. He'd _continued to stare at Caraway, never once lifting his eyes from him, and had uttered the suffering sigh of one who was prepared to wait for days for his chess opponent to make a move. It was clear Squall would not avert his gaze or leave that room before he got an answer to his unspoken question. It was also clear that, unless and until something came out, neither would Caraway. Unable to stand the deadly stare for any longer, the general had retreated to his window, where he'd stayed, trying to come up with something, anything, to break the unbearable tension in the room._

            General Caraway stood at the center window to the main social room of the house, a huge den facing away from the rest of the city. Beyond the window, acres of blank grassland expanded out toward a distant, rocky coast. A developing thunderhead was approaching slowly from the shore, and Caraway watched distantly as streaks of red and yellow heat lightning flit across the star-starved sky.

            Squall sat on one of the long couches, a dark red sofa made of some velvety fabric that was no doubt distastefully expensive. Right now everything in the house looked sickeningly rich to Squall. He sat hunched over as he usually did, but instead of staring at the ground, his eyes were trained on Caraway in an icy scowl that might have snuffed out a candle at a glance.

 "…Strange, isn't it," the general murmured, keeping his eyes on the horizon, refusing to turn around and meet the stare that he could _feel burning into the back of his head. He raised his voice slightly, addressing the mercifully unseen, steel-eyed judge. "Strange, how gentle crosswinds can form into terrible storms."_

There was no answer from the jury.

Caraway's gaze lowered from the storm, to the wine glass he held in one hand. There was no wine in it, however; only water. "I…bought Angelo for Rinoa, four years ago," he said distantly and to no one. "Ever since her mother died, she wanted a dog. Practically every puppy she saw, she wanted to take home, so I hear. I wouldn't allow it, of course." He stared at the storm again. "I didn't want some mongrel mutt wandering about my house, knocking over things and making a nuisance of itself. It would be a hassle." He was silent for almost a minute, staring out the window. "Rinoa…practically hated me for it. She thought I was being unreasonable, or…" He glanced over his shoulder, not quite looking at Squall, and smiled a little, tensely. "…'mean.'" When Squall didn't return the amused smile, it faded on Caraway's lips as the general cast his attention to the horizon. "It wasn't that I wished to spite her, truly…I simply wanted what was best. A friend of mine is…was, a breeder of cantanders. A renowned one, at that. He died the same year he convinced me to buy one of his puppies for Rinoa to give to her on her fourteenth birthday… I don't know when I've seen her so happy as she was that day." Caraway paused, waited, and still heard nothing from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder once, nervously, to see if Squall might have left the room, but looked away just as quickly when the burning stare pounced on him yet again. He continued uneasily; the SeeD's eerie silence was unnerving him, and he had to say something to fill the soundless room. "It seems I'd made a wise choice. Angelo is well-behaved, learns quickly, a very intelligent dog. He's personable, but not rowdy. I was pleased with him, I suppose. He made Rinoa happy, and did not create a disturbance. It was good to do something for her, that satisfied both our needs."

"What's your point?" Squall spoke for the first time since he had entered the room; his voice was startling to Caraway, and alien—the general had never before heard such a tone. Generally, Squall's voice was low, quiet but clear, a sound that normally spoke in whispers but would have no trouble making a room shake if it needed to. Now it was almost an animalistic growl, but still calm and contained, perhaps in a conscious effort to keep from shouting. "I don't want to hear your life story," the SeeD groused, "and I don't care what your reasons are for buying a dog." 

It took Caraway a moment to think up an answer. "What do you want to hear?"

"You tell me." 

"Now, how could I know a thing like that?" Caraway returned a token scowl of his own that paled in comparison to Squall's leer. "I do not read minds." 

_Give me a break. "Cut the crap, okay? You're not stupid, but this fake pleasantry act is making you look dumb as hell." _

Caraway put a hand to his head and sighed. "I'm concerned for Rinoa's safety, Mr. Leonhart, you _must understand that."_

For the first time in minutes, Squall's expression changed slightly, briefly. His eyebrows raised slightly in false surprise. _You've got a funny way of showing it. _

Lowering his voice slightly, Caraway finally turned to face Squall, placed the now empty wine glass on the sill of the window, and clasped his hands behind his back, a very businesslike air about him. "A year ago today, Mr. Leonhart, you wouldn't have argued this way, nor silently demanded answers of me even if you'd disagreed with my very existence. You seemed fairly cooperative when I first met you. You've changed a great deal."

Squall brought his half-hidden face out from behind his clasped fists so he could speak more clearly, though his stare did not diminish in its intensity. If anything, the scowl deepened; he was irritated at the general's constant attempts at changing the subject. "I worked for you because it was my job. I didn't have to like you. I'm not on that assignment anymore, and I've got no obligation to obey you." _Don't talk to me about time. Don't talk to me about change. "You hired me to kill a sorceress." __Before it was just business, I was hired to deal with your __problem. Now I've __got a problem, and you're part of it. Now you're __dealing with me.__ "You think I'm some half-wit soldier?"_

"Apparently not," Caraway answered after a time. Then, more quietly, "I would never intentionally hurt Rinoa. Ever. The idea itself makes me ill." A sudden flash of anger swept across his face. "…Are you saying that _I tried to kill her?!"_

This time, instead of answering, Squall got up, tore away his terrible stare with insurmountable disgust and walked past Caraway, to the window. He stared out of it at nothing, briefly. _I don't know what to believe. I just know you had something to do with it. He half-turned to scowl at the general again. "You said it, not me."_

"Mr. Leon—"

Squall's patience snapped. "_Don't call me that!"_

"…Squall, then."

Squall forced calm on himself again, stood wordlessly, facing Caraway, hands curled into loose fists at his sides.

Caraway eyed the SeeD with a narrowed, askew gaze, and a hint of curiosity. He took a few careful steps toward Squall as he spoke. "You…are in _love with my daughter?"_

Squall tilted his head slightly, briefly to the left in a sort of sideways nod. "I'm in love with _Rinoa." His voice was normal again, quiet but strong, straightforward. He had nothing to hide. Inwardly he almost laughed, thought in a sort of stark amusement, __How long did it take you to figure that __out?_

"…I see." Caraway looked away once more, his voice oddly subdued. 

_You say that a lot.  _

"I…didn't know. She didn't tell me." 

_The hell you didn't._

"…You were rooming together?"

_That's the biggest question on your mind, I'll bet. "Yeah." Squall acted as though the question and its answer were trivial and obvious.___

Caraway seemed duly fettered, shuffled his feet for a moment before turning a very disapproving stare on Squall. "_Forgive me, but, I __hadn't expected…well—"_

"You've got a problem with that idea, is that it?" Squall briefly raised an upturned hand, annoyed at Caraway's dogged attempts at clinging to formalities.

"…Honestly, yes." Finally, a straight answer.

"…If you're afraid I'll hurt her," Squall paused, gave a short, dry, humorless grunt of a laugh, "you've got _nothing to worry about." __As far as I can see, the only person mistreating her here is you__. "She doesn't __belong to you, anymore, Caraway."_

"Nor does she belong to you!" Caraway raised his voice, took a step toward Squall, frowning angrily.

Squall shook his head, unconsciously squaring his stance, raising his voice, as well. "No, she doesn't. _I belong to __her," He touched his right hand to his chest beside Griever, which shivered from his sharp movements, and his tone became a snarl, "in a way you couldn't even __begin to understand."_

"Do you believe that I want what is best for her, that she means more to me than anything else?"

"I _think you do, but I think the way you two treat each other doesn't make it look that way." Squall relaxed a little, lowered his voice, but made no move to hide his annoyance. "I think you want to keep her here to try and protect her from things that she's more capable of dealing with than you are, and I think you're trying to justify it every time something goes wrong, so you don't look like the bad guy." __I think a lot of the things you do are questionable. I question your motives for wanting Rinoa to stay here, I question your actions to get her to come home, and I question your reasoning behind it all. "You make __no sense to me. Everything you say you do for Rinoa's own good only ends up hurting her. I __can't stand by and watch it happen. And I can't __believe you're not trying your damned hardest to make sure she's all right, after all she's gone through." _

The general stuck out a questioning hand to one side in a sharp movement that caused his whole body to jerk. "What do you _suggest I do?"_

Squall let out a small sigh of frustration. He understood Caraway's question, knew it had nothing to do with explosions or dogs. Slowly, he folded his arms, looked off to the side. _You mean to get Rinoa to talk to you without her biting your head off.  "…I don't know if there's anything you can do at all." _

The conversation switched immediately back to Caraway's previous concern. "And because of that she's better off with you?"

Squall rolled his eyes, unfolded his arms, stared at Caraway as though the general was the most ignorant man on the planet. "Give me a break. Don't turn this into some stupid, overprotective father drama." He shook his head again, more fervently this time, and held out his arms, indicating the whole of the room. "To her, this isn't her home anymore, and you're not in any position to argue." He paused briefly. "It doesn't matter what you think, because it—" A short laugh escaped him. "Actually, I don't even _care what you think of it." _

Another silence, another staring match. Caraway said nothing, looked away. His face was blank, cold, thoughtful. He looked like a child who was listening to a stern lecture. He might as well have been. 

Squall took advantage of his apparent speechlessness. "You don't _give her anything. You just talk and expect to be obeyed."_

"I give her _everything."_

"Not this house, you moron. A friend. A _family. Some loving parent you are. If your idea of getting rid of a danger to her—me, I guess—is blowing up whatever room I'm staying in, then I can understand why she wants to stay away from you." __This got a reaction. The general looked up sharply, in shock that he tried to play off as abhorrence. Almost apologetically, Squall tossed his hands up slightly, letting them slap against his sides, shaking his head slowly. "I'm not __stupid. Much as you might want me to be."_

For a moment, it looked like Caraway might admit to being outmaneuvered, but, stubbornly, another mask of utter ignorance creased his face. "I'm sorry?"

"Listen, I don't know what they teach your soldiers in this city, but if you think you can weasel your way past me_, you're going to be disappointed." Squall was sick of the game Caraway was trying to play with him. "I don't miss much. I've been here __two days, and I already know you had something to do with what happened at the hotel." He folded one arm against the other, put the other hand to his forehead, rubbing at the dark scar on his brow. "You're __always hiding something. You have been since we got here." __That's obvious, and I don't see how no one could have noticed by now. "You've got __guilt written all over your face."  His own visage shaded by his hand, Squall closed his eyes briefly. __Which is stupid, because only a person with a guilty conscience could have such a hard time concealing remorse. Which means you're not the real bad guy, here. What the hell is going on?_

"Just how do you _know I'm hiding something, I'd be interested to hear?" Caraway asked skeptically, daring Squall to back up his claim. He was somewhat unsettled by the response he got._

"Because you suck at it."

The general looked annoyed at being spoken to in such a manner. He pretended to ignore Squall's blunt explanation altogether. "I'm sorry, Squall, but frankly, no matter what you _think you see, my personal matters aren't any of your business."_

Squall's anger surfaced again. He sliced the air in front of him with his arm, balling his other into a fist, and leaned forward threateningly. His voice boomed against the walls of the huge room. "It _is my business when Rinoa nearly got __killed!" His deadly glare returned with a vengeance, striking Caraway almost as hard as his fist might have, had he used it. "__Damn you if it isn't yours, too!"_

Caraway kept his face turned, stubbornly refusing to look at Squall, who stayed in his threatening stance. The general returned, quietly, almost meekly, "I really,_ don't know what you're talking about."_

"Bull_shit you don't know what I'm talking about!"_

Suddenly Caraway's voice rose, and he glared back at Squall, set his foot on the floor firmly. "Please, _Mr. Leonhart—!"_

Squall managed to retract his outburst for the moment. He stood straighter, forcibly relaxing. He turned to the window, crossed his arms, bowed his head in solemn thought. Though Caraway could not see it, the SeeD's visage softened, a little sadly, through half-closed eyes. 

Caraway stood where he was, his voice lowered again, in an almost conspiratorial fashion. "…I can't tell you about the explosion," he muttered, "but I can tell you…I did _not foresee Rinoa being harmed…because of it. No one was supposed to be—"_

"Stop." Squall would have none of it. His eyes closed, he looked halfway over his shoulder, such that he could be heard clearly, because he spoke quietly, but not enough to see Caraway. A little louder, as he looked away again,  "Just…_shut up."_

Dead, soulless silence pervaded the room like a poisonous gas, thickening as the minutes ticked on into a liquid that Caraway could not breathe. Caraway didn't know how long it had been since the void began, but he was the one to break it. "I'm not a murderer."

Squall's words were pitiless. "No, just a man who likes to hire assassins."

"Y—" 

"Go after me and end up getting Rinoa caught in the middle of it instead. What the hell were you _thinking?"_

"Just a—"

Squall turned around and motioned vaguely at Caraway. "There's a pattern here_, you know—"_

"This—"

"Before, you tried to lock Rinoa in her room the night of Edea's parade," Squall was relentless, stepping toward Caraway slowly as he went on, "and ended up 'accidentally' bolting in three of the people _you hired to help you out with your stupid suicide mission, and Rinoa almost got torn to pieces by a couple of gargoyles from the gates of your __own damn __city!"_

"You're out of line—"

"You must not have liked Julia's valet very much. Did you stage the car wreck too? Sucks that she happened to be _in it—"_

"_That is enough!"_

            Squall stopped abruptly at Caraway's barked words. He stood still as a statue for a moment, his face devoid of expression, then slowly walked back to the couch and sat down again. He let one arm flop limply over his knee, and bowed his head into the other hand, entangling his fingers in his side-swept bangs. 

            The general watched him, still trembling inside from the vicious words. He said nothing.

            The room stayed still for an indeterminable time, another pause in this repeating exchange of silence and scathing emotion. Thunder rumbled outside. The storm would reach Deling City any minute.

Squall spoke again just as the first raindrops spattered against the window. "Look, Caraway…" He considered again, carefully, his words. "Rinoa is a very beautiful, very _intelligent, young woman." He took his hand from his forehead and looked up at Caraway, to find the general watching him intently. Squall wasn't scowling anymore, bore instead the fatigued expression he'd hidden earlier. "__I won't tell you how to run a family," he continued, quietly, "or whatever it is you have here." __I'm the last person to give advice about something like that. "But I will tell you it's hard as hell to get Rinoa to just leave you alone. For some reason, though, she avoids __you like a plague." A wry smile flit across his face. "By doing that you've managed a feat of Being An Ass that I never did, and I'm pretty callous most of the time. Hell, I was a real jerk to her when we first knew each other, but she didn't let me go that easy. Because…I'm not even sure why. Because she cared, and she believed I was something special to her." He looked away from Caraway, out the water-blurred window, watching the lighting color the glass with distorted flashes of scarlet and gold tears. "She's, really amazing, you know. Damn, I wish you just knew…" He spoke up some, his words came a little faster. "It's unbelievable. She forgave every __stupid thing I ever said or did. But you," He looked again at Caraway, the familiarity of the situation startling him. __You're something special that just got up and left. "You don't have her faith anymore," he explained simply. "You didn't respond to her as a father after Julia died, when she needed you most. Why should she talk to you now?"  His saddened stare lowered to the floor. "She'd __like to think she's got a family to go back to. But just thinking about you hurts her more than anything, because she thinks she's lost you. She doesn't want to be around you because it reminds her of what she __doesn't have. She's completely blocked you out of her life because she can't stand to __deal with you." Out of his peripheral vision, he watched Caraway sit down on the other couch on the adjacent side of the room. He looked over in the general's direction, but didn't meet his gaze directly. "If she got pushed away that much, or, __whatever it is that happened—I don't really care—it doesn't even __matter whose fault it is. I don't know about you. But I know Rinoa. She'll act the way she feels. She's good at that. __You can't hide it if you're nervous to save your life because you do the same thing. You're the same way. That's how I know you're wrapped up in this somehow. You can't hide what you feel any more than she can. The problem is, the way she feels is abandoned…" The ice-stare narrowed at Caraway. "…by __you."_

If Caraway had been hurt at all since the entire conversation had started, he hadn't openly shown it until now. Now, he almost winced at Squall's last few words, shook his head and answered feebly, "That was never my intention, I… I've tried to talk to her, I've _tried to discuss this with her, and she simply—"_

Squall interrupted. "You can't just work it out, or discuss it, or whatever. Not that way." _Doing that only sets you up to get hurt. "She's so detached from you, no matter how much you try and __pull her back, or how long you wait, and hope that she'll just turn around and come running, or something—Geez, use your head. It's not gonna happen that way. You can't sweet talk her into staying here, or threaten her with consequences if she doesn't. She isn't gonna listen to that crap. She's got her own mind—I'd know—and she's gonna do what she thinks is right." Watching for a moment as Caraway shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Squall marveled at the fact the general had listened to him for this long. If Caraway had any positive qualities about him, listening was apparently one of them. "Believe me, I know her better than you ever will. If __you want her 'back,' you've got to __go to her, but when she needs you. Don't try to bring her to you when the last thing she wants to see is your face."_

"I can't simply agree with her to make her feel better," Caraway snapped defensively.

Squall nodded slightly, staring at the floor. "Fine." _Just don't say I didn't warn you. He stood, then, and started for the door, then stopped, thinking of something, turned back around. "…If you let yourself be wrong, once in a while she might do the same thing." _

Caraway shook his head stubbornly. "You're talking about surrendering everything I think is right, to her irrational behavior."

Squall actually had to fight off a smile at Caraway's ironic choice of words. "Yeah. I guess I am."

"Impossible. I must be firm with her. I can't condone such a disrespectful attitude." 

_This isn't going anywhere. Squall turned for the door again, said over his shoulder before he started walking, "Whatever. All I care about is Rinoa, right now. I'm not part of your argument. You asked my opinion and I gave it to you. So go with whatever means more to you. Your sense of discipline, or Rinoa's friendship." __In a way, I guess I know what you're going through, he thought absently.__ I had to make the same choice. I almost made the wrong one. When Caraway said nothing in reply, Squall started for the door again. "I'm not your damn shrink." He stopped just before he left, that last thought sparking a memory of something he'd heard, some time ago. He vaguely wondered if it would really mean anything to the general, but spoke the thought aloud anyway, sharply speaking each word, all the while wondering why he was saying anything at all, wondering why he bothered. "Probably doesn't mean shit to you, but, just because something __isn't wrong to __you doesn't really make it all right." He looked back at Caraway. "So I guess, the same way, just because something's not right to you, doesn't mean it's 'wrong.'" __That sounds so stupid coming out of me… _

Squall waited to see if Caraway would say anything, wondering if the comment had even registered in the man's mind. He gave up when there was no answer and left The General to his own lonely musings.


	3. Day 3--Spies

Day 3

It was just past midnight when Squall came out of his ultimately fruitless "talk" with Caraway. Surprisingly, the discussion had not left him _particularly _irritable, though by no means did he feel any better about anything that had happened in the past day. Perhaps his relative calm was because he had actually managed to _say _what he'd wanted to say to Caraway. He'd surprised himself with just how much he'd talked, when an hour ago, he'd been certain he didn't have any reason to talk at all. _Since when did I start babbling like that? It isn't useful unless someone's going to listen…_

Still, even as he walked down the shadowy hallway that led to Rinoa's room, he was tense enough to pay keen attention to everything around him: the intermittent humming vibration of the ventilation system, perhaps an air conditioner with a loose fan; the soft _swwp _sounds his boots made as they brushed against the carpet; his own quiet breathing, and the echo of all these sounds about the walls of the house, how they varied in pitch as each bounced back to him from a particular corner, and how these variations changed as he moved from one end of the hallway to the other. 

Despite Rinoa's assurances, he felt no safer in the mansion of a suspicious man than he would have in a hotel room in a city governed by a suspicious man. If anything, he felt all the more in-danger. But Rinoa had needed rest, and it would have been pointless to try to rent out another room. The explosion had left nothing to serve as evidence as to what had caused it. Squall had never heard of such a thing as a magically designed bomb, hadn't any idea how someone would go about fashioning such a thing, but he'd seen stranger things in his lifetime. What he didn't understand, and what bothered him, was who the explosion had truly been aimed at—himself, Rinoa, or the both of them?

And unless Caraway had told someone, how on earth had anyone known they were here?

These things still on his mind as he came to the door to Rinoa's room, Squall had to remind himself to open the door quietly, so as not to wake her—assuming she was asleep. She hadn't "spoken" to him at all in the past hour, and her mind had remained silent, so it was fairly safe to assume that she was. He momentarily doused his troubled thoughts in case they might unintentionally reach her. The last thing Squall wanted was to worry her more, much less wake her up in the middle of the night at the fault of his own anxiety. 

The almost absolute darkness of Rinoa's room made the meager light of the hallway seem like sunlight beaming in through the half-open door Squall slipped silently through. He had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust enough for him to make out the vague outline of her bed in the far corner of the room. Rinoa was a black figure laying there in the acute darkness, Angelo a featureless mound of fur beside her. He could see enough to tell, as he approached, that she was curled up with her back facing him, and knew by her mental acknowledgement of his presence that she was indeed _not _asleep. Nor, he got the impression, had she been for some time. If she'd slept at all. 

She turned around on her side to face him as he came to kneel by the side of the bed, watched him fold his arms atop the edge of the mattress, heard him sigh wearily as he rested his chin in them. She didn't need to ask where he'd been for the past hour. Even if she hadn't been able to hear his agitated thoughts and feel his frustrated emotions, she would have guessed he'd tried to talk with Caraway. It appeared, not surprisingly, that he'd had little luck trying to get anything out of the general. Rinoa reached out and lightly ran her fingers over Squall's hair in a note of sympathy, continued to do this when she felt him relax a little at the gesture. Poor Squall was none too skilled at dealing with people at all, much less someone he was angry with, and it was obvious he had painfully frayed his patience. 

Squall hid his face in his arms. _Somebody give me a gun, some rope, and four chocobos—that man needs to be shot, drawn and quartered._

Rinoa hid an amused, wry smile in the darkness, brushed Squall's hair away from his hidden face, continued to toy absently with the soft strands as she whispered aloud in answer. "Too bad you left your sword back at the Garden." 

This brought little more from him than a dry snort of a laugh, a shaking of his head that caused his bangs to waver such that it looked as if an oddly colored grass had grown up over his coat sleeve. A nearly inaudible "mrrm" that Rinoa guessed was supposed to be a groan—or a poor imitation of one—confirmed his utter annoyance. _Good thing I didn't bring it, or I might have killed someone already. _Again, he was half-serious. 

"Don't feel too bad," she consoled. "I learned a long time ago Caraway's the most impossible man in the world to reason with."

"Not really," Squall mumbled, his voice further muffled by the sleeves of his jacket. _I think he deludes himself more than anybody else. He's a really, _really bad _liar, though. _

"Not that I disagree," Rinoa almost laughed, "but I'm not quite sure I follow…"

Squall lifted his face from his arms and again, but didn't exert the effort to tilt his head up at all, instead rolled tired eyes upward to stare past the hand that was playing with his hair and into Rinoa's shadowed visage that was just becoming discernable in the darkness of the room. "…'slike he starts making excuses for everything he does," he explained, words slightly slurred from both fatigue and a certain unwillingness to pay any more attention to formal speech, which he'd had quite enough of in his talk with Caraway. "Then he starts telling me stuff about what he did years ago and why—like I'd care—but he really isn't talking to _me _at all when he says it. He's talking to himself. It's actually kind of creepy, in a way…" He closed his eyes. "He reminds me of those mentally disturbed doctors or mad scientists or abusive teachers or whatever, the villains you see a lot in old movies… I'll bet he looks sophisticated as hell in public." Another sigh. He was looking up at her again. 

"He's not too far from it," Rinoa muttered, not a little bitterly. "Disturbed, I mean. The only people who know he's messed up are his daughter and her boyfriend." She smirked. "Guess that makes us the heroes of the story, right?"

"Not me," came the tired growl. "I'm tired of being The Good Guy. Someone else wants to save this country, fine. I'm just here to make sure you get your dog back." Squall glanced over at sleeping Angelo, who seemed oblivious to their quiet conversation. "I already saved the world. If this guy wants to screw up his city, it's not my problem." He lifted his head from his arms and gently shook away Rinoa's hand. "But I don't wanna stay here if stuff like this keeps happening."

"I'm not leaving without Angelo," Rinoa returned firmly.

"I _know _that. I don't like this place. Too much has happened here."

_Did you tell him about us? _Rinoa's thought was sudden and not really meant for Squall to hear, but he caught it anyway. 

"He figured it out. I think he knew before, though. I just don't think he wanted to admit it to himself."

"He didn't like it, did he?"

"Not exactly, but I don't give a damn what he thinks." 

Neither said anything else for a minute or two, and Squall noticed again the intermittent humming of the ventilation shafts above them. It was beginning to get on his nerves. 

"How come you didn't sleep?" The conversation jumped again. Squall placed a hand over Rinoa's, watched her expectantly.

Rinoa shrugged, threaded her fingers through Squall's. "Couldn't stop thinking about everything, I guess…"

"What 'everything?'"

"I mean everything." She laid her head down, blinking slowly. "About how we're going to get Angelo back, about what a filthy jerk my dad's being, about the explosion, who might have done it—" A woeful edge crept into her voice, "—all the clothes we lost because of it…" She smiled when she felt Squall's mental strain as he kept himself from rolling his eyes. "…and like you said, everything else that happened here: Edea being possessed by Ultimecia; me being foolish enough to go after her by myself; those gargoyles." A small giggle. "Carbuncle." Her smile faded quickly, though. "Talking about Seifer before Irvine tried to shoot Edea. Everything that happened after that. You know."

Squall didn't look at her. "Yeah. I know." 

Rinoa watched him for a moment, a hint of sadness and frustration tugged at her. "It _still _bothers you. Every time it gets brought up, you block it out and change the subject—and don't look at me like that. I noticed it a long time ago. I'm around you too much _not _to."

Squall lowered his eyes, hung his head to stare at the fabric of the bed's comforter. His hair fell forward to shroud his face. His voice was a snarl that might have been intimidating if it hadn't been so weak. "Whatever…"

"_Please, _Squall," Rinoa keened insistently, "don't 'whatever' me about it, this time. It isn't like you can hide it from me, anyway."

"I'm not trying to hide _anything,_" Squall jumped to defend himself. _That would be pointless. _"I just don't wanna talk about it, okay?"

"Why? Because you don't want me to know?"

"Because _I _don't wanna think about it. You're right, it bothers me." Though his words were irritated, he stared at her, and his eyes begged her not to push the subject any further. "I don't want it to haunt you, too. It isn't _worth _freaking out about." He got no response, directly, and it took him a moment to piece together her scattered thoughts and feelings into a coherent answer. Once he had, he sighed quietly at the meaning of her thoughts, if not any words that had come from it.

_The more you don't tell me about it, the more I think about all the things they _could _have done to you. A lot those things are not pleasant at all._

Again Squall looked down at the mattress. _Please, don't make me talk about this now. I'll tell you later, just…not now. I'm too nervous to handle it now. Later. When we're not in so much danger. Or at least when I don't feel like we are. Later. _

Rinoa nodded slowly. "Okay…I'll accept that. But sometime. I'm not going to just let you keep slipping though my fingers about this."

"Anything else, Your Highness?" _Royal Pain In The Ass. _Squall was kidded her with a wry smile, though Rinoa got the impression his annoyance with her prying wasn't completely feigned. "I'm your _humble _knight."

"Humble, _nothing!_" Rinoa reached out and playfully messed up his hair. "_El rei leon _with a military diploma."

Squall squinted and blew his bangs from his face. "It's one in the morning. Are you gonna move over, or do I have to kneel here all night?" _And where did you learn that name? You've been talking to Jorge too much. _

Rinoa looked a little nervous, despite the light air of Squall's first, verbal question. "Are you…I just don't want him walking in, and—" _I talk to Jorge about once every decade. He used that phrase to refer to you when I was around him. I think it's cute. Besides, he's _your _student. Sue me._

Squall cast an uninterested glance over his shoulder, toward the door. "So, what's he gonna do? Beat me up?" _Sure. How much? I hate nicknames. _

"Right. I'd like to see him try. _That _would make my day." _Why?_

"Oh, man. An excuse to knock his lights out would be…what am I _saying?_ I sound like Zell." _I don't know. I just don't. _

"He can do things like that to you." _Well…then get over it! It's just a term of endearment._

"Who, Caraway, or Zell?" _No. I like my name the way it is._

"Both." _You're no fun._

Brief silence.

"Whatever." _Whatever._

"Whatever." _Whatever._

Both SeeD and sorceress broke into quiet laughter at their own thoughts and words.

Squall recovered first, but Rinoa, still giggling, took his other hand in her own. "Only _we _would sit here at one in the morning having double conversations with each other and end up at the same conclusion for both of them."

"Yeah…" Smiling in the darkness, Squall stood slowly, reluctantly pulling his hands away as he sat down on the edge of the bed, went about ridding himself of boots and jacket. He felt particularly lazy at the moment and simply tossed the articles to the floor next to him. With the jacket gone, grey short-sleeves left his arms bare to the cool air of the room, and a brief, hackle-raising chill rushed through him. "Does this room have a thermostat anywhere?" he asked over his shoulder.

"No," Rinoa chirped, eyes closed, intoning silently that this was yet one more of the many annoying inconveniences that had plagued them since even before their arrival.

_Figures. _"Terrific. This thing have covers?" Squall half-expected her to say no.

Instead, she said nothing, but sat up, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and stood up just long enough to throw back the edge of the thick comforter. 

She misjudged the toss, however, and accidentally threw the covers over the sleeping Angelo, who woke with a startled 'snrrf' at being suddenly enveloped by a poofy layer of fabric. "Oops." Laughing quietly as Angelo crawled out from under the fold, Rinoa briefly hugged the dog about the neck. 

Squall watched all this take place with silent amusement. He remembered what had happened on their trip in the cargo bay of the Dollet sea ship. "Is he gonna be sleeping in here?"

"Yes," was the immediate answer. "Don't worry …it's a bigger room, and there's ventilation…so I doubt your nose will keep you up." 

"If you say so." He was admittedly skeptical. He hadn't known he was allergic to dogs until he'd suffered two days in a small cargo room with Angelo, during which time he'd gotten next to no sleep. He wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea he would once again be spending the night in the same room with the animal. He moved to the other side of the bed, and shifted the subject a little, to discuss a different annoyance. "Everything else aside, do you think Caraway's going to let you buy Angelo back?" He pulled the covers up over his shoulders; he was very _cold _all of a sudden. "I don't wanna stay here any longer than I have to."

Rinoa seemed to have noticed the chill, too, had wrapped herself up as snugly as possible. "You've said that already. I think he will. He's going to take his sweet time about it, though."

Angelo settled himself at Rinoa's feet, curling up as he had before, oblivious to the chill of the room. His ears pricked up to listen to the quiet conversation. 

"I really don't understand this guy. He's too smart to be acting this…_stupid._"

"I've been saying the same thing since I was twelve years old. Welcome to the family."

"Sorry if I'm not too ecstatic about it." 

_I never thought of you as much of a family person, anyway…not at the moment, at least._

The discussion was lost to silence. _I'll pass on that subject. I'm not thinking that far. It hurts my head._

_I don't blame you._

_How long do you think we'll have to stay here?_

_I really don't know. You're obsessing about this. _

_I _really _don't want to be here._

_Somehow, I don't think dogs, generals and magic bombs are the only reason you don't like it here._

_Three things, really…_

_What are those?_

Squall opened his eyes and turned to lay on his side, facing her. _This whole Angelo thing…it's annoying. I wish your dad would just sell the damn dog to you and not make an issue out of it. Two, I really feel like something's after us. Maybe I'm being paranoid—I don't know, exploding hotel rooms have a tendency to put me on edge. But the other thing is…I just don't like even thinking about this place…just being here kind of gives me the creeps. _

_I see…and the other one?_

_That's it. I said there were three._

_No, there's a fourth one. _Rinoa was smiling slightly.

_What?_

_You can't act innocent forever._

_…Yeah, well, I wasn't going to say anything…I'll live._

_You'll get grouchy after a while._

_I'm always grouchy._

_You'll get more grouchy._

_Take a look at who you're talking to._

Laughing silently, Rinoa moved closer to him and hugged him affectionately. _I love you, Squall. _She didn't need to see him to know he was allowing himself a small grin. _Grouch though you are, you're _my _grouch._

_Right. I'm grouchy enough for both of us. _

_Nothing helps a bad mood like spreading it around. _Nuzzling into his neck, sighing wistfully, Rinoa felt Squall's arms close about her shoulders, and much of her tension faded, she relaxed her body with another fatigued sigh.

Squall wasn't especially tired, himself; weary, but not sleepy. But Rinoa's relaxed state had its effect on him, and he found himself drifting after a few minutes of silence. The cold of the room was less noticeable, the warmth of darkness and body heat slowly curling around him served to deepen quiet serenity. So much had happened that day, and now, to just lie here, to fall asleep peacefully and away from the chaos, was a relief that came somehow unexpected.

In a short while he was so sedate, in fact, he almost did not notice when the door to the room slowly opened. Heavily, Squall managed to open his eyes to thin slits, enough to see the dim light beyond the door filtering into the room to outline a tall figure that stood motionless as a statue in the entrance. He knew at once it was Caraway, and forced himself to keep his eyes open. Gently, he coaxed Rinoa's consciousness from light sleep to waking awareness, all the while remaining motionless save for his breathing. At Rinoa's initial confusion, he quickly explained, wordless thoughts warning her of her father's presence in the doorway. This served to rouse her completely out of sleep, and she opened her eyes slightly. She did not move otherwise. 

_…What is he doing? _Her first thoughts in coherent words were nervous, suspicious of the man she knew stood staring at her from yards away. 

_Just standing there, right now. _

Rinoa felt Squall tense beside her, took some assurance in the tightening of his protective grip. She tried to keep herself rational. What could Caraway do about them, anyhow? Nothing at all. It wasn't his decision. If he had a problem, he'd be too cowardly to march in the room and object. Not with Squall here. 

She closed her eyes again, staying motionless beside her love, who was tense and attentive as any waiting predator. Forget Caraway. As long as Squall was with her, she probably wouldn't have to deal with her father.

But Squall warned her awake again, she opened her eyes just enough to see Griever's outline lying beside her on the mattress. Caraway was stepping through the door. His paces were slow, uncertain, he kept glancing this way and that as though afraid someone was watching him. 

_If only he knew, _she thought wryly, _that I can see him without even having to look at him. _She vaguely wondered if, and doubted that, Caraway understood the magnitude and flexibility of her abilities, much less when combined with Squall's power. She could see through her knight's eyes as she was doing now, take control of another person's mind if she so desired and exerted the effort. No, Caraway only knew her as "his" daughter. What a fool. He was so ignorant of his own family because he was too wrapped up in himself to notice the place of the people around him.

_Just keep quiet if he comes close, _Squall instructed her, a hint of disdain lining his thoughts.

Rinoa said and thought nothing back to him, simply acknowledged him. Inwardly she shrank a little. Squall had heard her angry thoughts, and his firm if subliminal reprimand sobered her resentment somewhat. It wasn't any help to allow her caustic feelings to simmer, and letting herself grumble about her father served no purpose but to make her anger worse. It solved nothing, and she knew it. Reveling in her own power would do no good, either. Chastened, she kept silent and watched.

The Figure Caraway did not come too close, stopped feet away from the bedside and stood staring mutely. Squall kept his eyes nearly closed, but trained on the man nonetheless. Inwardly, he began to get irritated. _You've confirmed your fear, Caraway. You can't do anything about it. So get out of here. Quit staring like it helps. _Under this annoyance was the silent hope that Angelo would not wake and give Caraway a reason to come closer. 

_He won't, _Rinoa relieved him of the worry. _I've made sure of that._

Caraway continued to stand where he was, apparently there for the sole purpose of standing, staring, and thinking. A few minutes passed, and Squall could stand the silent scrutiny no longer. After warning Rinoa that he was about to do so, he opened his eyes the rest of the way, blinking as the light from the hallway caught his vision. Slowly, watching Caraway warily, he lifted his head from the pillow some and eased himself up enough to lean on one shoulder. He did not break his embrace with Rinoa. 

Almost immediately, Caraway averted his stare to the side, pretended uselessly that he had not been looking at them at all. No sound came from him. It was as though his presence was a mere apparition. 

As Squall's eyes adjusted, he began to make out some features of the silhouette of the general. Still he could not see Caraway's expression. He released an audible sigh, continued to watch to see if the general would look at him. No such luck. Ever so quietly, as though to avoid waking the apparently sleeping Rinoa, Squall murmured, as much to himself as to the general, "You just _had _to make sure, didn't you?" Either way, it was a rhetorical question. 

Again there was no answer. Caraway did not look at them again. He simply turned away and walked slowly back to the door, pausing only briefly before exiting into the hallway. Quietly, he shut the door behind him. 

Squall relaxed again, settling down with every intention of sleeping. And it occurred to him that the shutting of the door had been the first action he had seen on the general's part that had shown any hint of honest respect. 

Miss Satel was the only semblance of a servant in Caraway's Mansion, had in years past been something of a family member to the Heartillys. For years, she had acted as cook, maid, and keeper of the house in Caraway's absence, and to look at her, one might assume she was any kindly old soul. She was the sort of "elderly" figure a person would treat with the utmost respect no matter what they thought of her, simply because of her appearance and compassionate manner. If the subject of her age ever arose, she would smile and cast a sideways stare that gave one no choice but to believe her, would always declare she was "one past fifty."

Miss Satel had been one past fifty for five years now. 

Rinoa had told Squall all of this on their way down the stairs that morning, and it was a tumult of information that Squall's mind did not choose to register immediately. He'd acknowledged Rinoa, of course, and he _had _listened. He was simply in no mood to process any such knowledge at the present moment. 

Squall had not slept well. He hadn't been particularly tired when he'd managed to fall asleep, and even afterwards his mind had been fitful. It had jostled him awake from dreams bordering on nightmares that he had been unable to retain the memory of by the time he opened his eyes. He hardly had to think to make an educated guess as to what the dreams had been about, however—and what had caused them. Not all of his tension was caused by restlessness alone. 

Even now as he sat idly at one end of the kitchen table, staring at his breakfast but not touching it, multiple worries tumbled about his mind. 

Who had set the magical explosion, why, and what did Caraway have to do with it? More and more, Squall was beginning to suspect that it actually had little to do with Rinoa and himself. People who were the base target for hit men, unless they were some sort of celebrity (or a well-known power, for that matter), weren't the victims of bombs. No, bombs were the cheap, easy way of getting rid of an inconvenience, and were far from foolproof. Any number of things could go wrong with such a tactic—it could fail to detonate (magical or not), or there would be some way of escaping harm, as Rinoa had done by shielding herself. Likely a magical explosion such as that would not have harmed Squall at all if he had been there; he had Guardian Forces enough to give him protection from the strongest of normal magic. Rinoa was not so well fortified, but as she had demonstrated, there were other ways of keeping oneself from harm. Even the right thing to hide behind might do. If whoever had set the explosion had known Rinoa was a sorceress, they were either very foolish or very careless. Hence Squall doubted that there was some great conspiracy against him, or even Rinoa. If that were true, their attacker—or attackers— wouldn't have risked the unreliability of an explosive. Squall found it questionable that Rinoa was even the intended target; judging from Caraway's odd behavior before the incident, and his obstinate attitude about the subject afterward, it seemed more likely that the attempt was misdirected. Once again, Squall felt hunted. He couldn't make any real assumptions one way or the other, but he could not shake the feeling that something—someone—knew where he was and when, at all times. But he hadn't enough information. Perhaps the attack had been random, and they'd been caught in the middle of an act of terrorism. Perhaps they'd walked in on an entirely different situation altogether, the likes of which Squall hadn't the foggiest idea. 

Which led on to the next troublesome thought. If someone knew he was _here, _then he or she also knew that he was _not _at Garden. And how many times had he left for a day or two, only to return to find another battle in progress, or worse, one that had played itself out without him. What was happening at the Garden, now? 

He reminded himself that he wasn't the sole protector of Garden or SeeD—they were formidable forces on their own. With the losses Galbadia had suffered, Squall doubted even that great empire had the nerve to make another attempt on Esthar any time too soon. 

Yet another curiosity—the entire country of Dollet was again free of Galbadian rule. So why was this city still called Deling City? Why was Caraway still allowed to so much as live there, to say nothing of his current rule over it?

Why was the general being so obviously elusive, and continuing to play the ignorant party when it was just so _clear _that Squall had at least partially found him out? If the man was involved in something dangerous, why was he being such a snake about keeping Rinoa with him?

Just what the hell was going on?

Squall cursed himself for being so deep-minded. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't become involved in anything other than the task of helping Rinoa bring Angelo back to the Garden. Then again, he hadn't expected anything such as this would happen. Should he have? He couldn't wander around everywhere thinking that every second, someone was out to get him. Yet, at the moment, that was _exactly _how he felt. Given the circumstances, how could he _not _think about it all? He closed his eyes and rubbed ruefully at his brow with the edge of one hand. He was so confused.

"Are you not feeling well, Mr. Squall?"

The question startled him out of his reverie, and he looked up and over his left shoulder to find Miss Satel peering at him with concern. Only then he realized he'd had his hand at his forehead. He hadn't noticed the action. It was a habit of his when he was thinking about something unpleasant. "No," he answered flatly, in a low tone that was not rude, but nor was it too polite. "I'm fine." He went back to staring at his untouched food. 

If there was a way to mentally giggle, Rinoa managed it in that instant. 

Squall cast her a sideways glare, watched her grin wryly at him from the seat to his right. _What's so funny? _

"Oh, you." She surprised him by answering his question aloud. He looked over his shoulder nervously, to his momentary fear saw that Miss Satel was still standing there, watching the both of them with a hint of knowing amusement on her face. This only made Rinoa laugh again, this time audibly. "It's a little obvious you have something on your mind." As she said this, Angelo, who had long since finished his own breakfast in the corner of the kitchen, raised his head quizzically from where he lay on the floor between Rinoa and Squall. He sat up, his ears swiveling with interest.

Miss Satel laughed, too, a raucous cackling that might have sounded evil if it had come from anyone else. "Oh, not to worry, Mr. Squall! It's no surprise you're mulling things over, what with that scene at the inn and all this business about bombs and whatnot. Must be a _terrible _bother!"

Squall didn't look at the woman, simply nodded somberly and picked at his food with his fork, pretending to eat and all but ignoring Angelo's nosy attempts to get his attention. He gave the dog a brief scratch between the ears and a piece of bacon, then waved the animal away. Angelo whined and laid down again, gnawing appreciatively on the treat.

Rinoa scolded Squall silently, _You could at least _try _to be personable. And quit playing with your food. If you're not going to eat it, then don't mess with it. _

Irritably, Squall leaned back in his chair, tossing his fork onto his plate. It landed with a clatter. _Yes, O Queen of Etiquette._

Rinoa sighed audibly but let the subject drop. Fussing at Squall for little things wouldn't do any good right now. He was too busy brooding over too many worries. 

_Speaking of that… _Squall crossed his arms, closed his eyes for a moment in both fatigue and thought. _Kind of weird that she hasn't asked me to take my coat off, like every other formal place I've been to. Does she not care, or is she the only person in this world who understands just how _cold _it is in this house?_

It took all the self-restraint Rinoa had no keep chewing and not laugh. _Only you would think about something like _that _at the breakfast table. And only _you _think it's cold in here, Squall._

Miss Satel again walked up behind Squall. "Is there anything I can get for you, Mr. Squall?" 

He waved her away. "Not really." _People have an obsession with surnames and titles around here, _he observed meaninglessly. The fact annoyed him. He didn't like anyone calling him "Mr." It didn't sound right to him.

Rinoa finished her meal, took her napkin from her lap and placed it on the table, and stood, pushing in her chair as she did so. "I'm going to get cleaned up," she announced, and turned to leave. Squall was about to get up to follow her, but didn't get the chance to move an inch for her stern command in his mind. _Stay._

Squall watched after her as she left, confused, at first not certain if the word had been meant for him at all. When Angelo got up and followed her from the room, he scowled and leaned forward slightly, propping himself up with one arm on the table. He grumbled sardonically to himself, with every doggish inflection, "Woof." 

She hadn't said so, but Squall knew she was tired of his foul mood, and eager to get away from it until he calmed himself down. Only a moment later, though, he realized her other reason for telling him not to follow her—and it was quite a valid one. Much as he didn't care what Caraway thought, it wouldn't do very well for him to follow after Rinoa only just after she had left to "get cleaned up." He hadn't thought about that until after Rinoa had already gone from the room. 

He continued to grouse to himself. _Everything about this trip has been a pain… _Squall watched Miss Satel take Rinoa's emptied dishes away, and only a moment later found himself addressed by the old woman again. 

"Won't you eat anything, Mr. Squall?" It was a question to which she already knew the answer—that much was evident in both her tone of voice and her expectant expression. 

Squall shook his head no, found his place cleared even before he had the chance to speak the single word. Instead he stayed where he was, spoke up only enough to be heard. "Could you not call me 'Mr.'? I hate it when people do that." Half of him hoped the woman's hearing was faded enough not to have picked up his words. 

No such luck, but her reply wasn't the rebuttal about being rude that he had expected. "All right then." The tone was not angry, nor even irritated. Squall was glad about this; normally he wasn't too careful about the way he spoke to people, but in such a case as an old woman like Miss Satel, he would have felt guilty, had he offended her. He might have decided to get up and leave then, not to follow Rinoa but to go somewhere else. He didn't, though; where else had he to go? His indecision ultimately subjected him to Miss Satel's attempts at conversation. "So tell me, Squall, how long do you think you two will stay here?" She was the first person that had asked him that question without the pretense that he wasn't wanted. She was also the first person to ask about "you two." Before it had simply been "you." 

"I don't know. As long as it takes for us to get Angelo back, probably." Squall felt that he was about to be dragged into a stream of smalltalk, and his mind scrambled for a viable excuse to leave the room, and a destination thereafter. He drew a blank. 

"Surprising she would end up with a boy like you," she went on, rather ungraciously. "Rinoa is so personable, but you…just seems so unlikely, given your disposition."

Well, at least she was honest about it. "It's a long story," he muttered in response, trying to dissuade her from speaking with him while still looking for a good excuse to dismiss himself. 

The response he got was almost the opposite of what he'd intended. "Well, knowing the general, you'll have time on your hands before that happens. We haven't seen Rinoa in nearly a year. Not since she left with you." She put some emphasis on the last word and continued as she went about washing the dishes. "We've heard very little about her since. I doubt her father would notice, but she seems to me to be a bit more established than she used to."

Something about the way the woman said this bothered Squall, and he turned halfway in his seat to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"A year ago, she would have come here kicking and screaming about Angelo…well, not quite, I suppose, but close enough. She used to battle with her father over _everything. _Quite hotly, too. Were it not for those two friends of hers, I doubt she would ever have learned to plan something out before making a fight about it."

_Zone and Watts, _Squall remembered. _I wonder what happened to them?_

"She seems quite certain of herself, now," Miss Satel went on, oblivious to Squall's thoughts. "And I do believe her conviction is quite unnerving the general."

_Yeah, that and _me. _I make him nervous._

"She appears more a woman, now, than she does a girl."

Squall nearly jumped in his seat, Miss Satel's choice of words startling him more than he would have expected them to. _Just words, you moron, _he chastised himself, calming internally. Outwardly he'd shown no more hint of his surprise than a glance with his eyes in Miss Satel's direction. "She's been through a lot," he replied for the sake of replying, his voice louder than it had been before. _Experience does that kind of thing to you. Compared to what she's had to deal with before, this Angelo thing is nothing._ He hadn't noticed that his mind had stopped trying to come up with ways to slip away from this conversation. 

Miss Satel had long since finished washing the dishes, had put them on a plate rack to dry, and was apparently busying herself by rummaging through a huge spice drawer and setting about reorganizing it. Squall wondered if she wasn't finding reasons to _stay _and talk to him. She laughed quietly as she "worked." "For what it is worth, I am proud of her. She has done better for herself than if she had stayed here. I _do _wish she and her father would patch things up, yet. Such a terrible pity, for them to still be at each other's throats after all this time." 

Squall stayed silent, having nothing to say to this. He agreed with the woman wholeheartedly. 

"Tell me about her."

He sighed a little, folding his arms on the edge of the table and leaning on them. "What about her? You can't just describe a person. Too much detail. " He looked out the huge windows on the other side of the room, watching cars roll down the road on their way to various destinations. Then, after a moment in which Miss Satel did not answer him, he spoke in a distant tone, "She's not what you'd expect." He looked away from the window and at the woman-still-organizing-spice-bottles. 

Miss Satel coughed out a short, yelping laugh. "Ho! Good dear, she certainly isn't. But you'd have a hard time knowing _that, _unless you spend much time with her. In my experience, she can be quite a chore to live with at times."

_Not really…_ "I guess." 

"'I guess'? Oh, dear, now, you must have more of an opinion than that?"

Squall turned back around, shaking his head. "You'd get annoyed with anyone if you lived with them for long enough. It's just the way that kind of thing works. It's not something that should become an issue."

"Hm! If only the general and his daughter had had the same attitude about such things in the past! You're a smart boy, Squall."

Squall found himself having no comment with which to respond. "Whatever." 

"Hah!" Miss Satel laughed again. "I understand what she sees in you, Squall."

Who folded his arms, scowled straight ahead. He _knew _he was being analyzed, and he didn't like it. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yes." She seemed quite confident. "You, you're a thinker."

Squall didn't give her the chance to say anything else. "We've been through a lot together. We don't need a bunch of reasons why." _You build life out of semantics and it falls apart on you._

"What does she do nowadays, then?"

"…All that stuff you hear about Galbadia and Esthar—she helps us out with some of it…" He tried to be as vague as possible. He didn't feel like going into detail about just _what _Rinoa's occupation was about, and, admittedly, didn't trust anyone enough to speak about it.

"Ah, yes, you're military, are you? She's certainly there because of you, I would think. She's hardly material for an officer."

"She could be if she wanted to…and if she started earlier. She's got ability. She can take care of herself."

"Is she ever in danger, there?" The question was spoken as though asking the time of day.

"Sometimes…"

"Has she ever been injured?"

Squall was uncertain what this woman was trying to get at—if it was anything at all, or if the questions were simple curiosity. His answers were cautious, but honest. "Yeah…nothing she couldn't handle. Not recently, though, if that's what you mean." _Unless you count what happened last night…_

"Does she make trouble for you?" This question was tainted with a note of amusement.

"Not any more than I make for her." Squall scowled as this answer seemed to bring about a spell of cackling laughter from Miss Satel. He wondered if he hadn't just been the butt of some joke. 

"_That, _I will believe." Finished with the reorganization of the drawer, the old woman walked over to a seat two places down the table to Squall's left, stiffly pulled out the adjacent chair and sat down in it, seeming relieved that she was no longer standing. "She always has been a right-back-at-you sort of person." She looked Squall in the face, smiling kindly. He avoided her stare. "Why come with her on a trip like this, when you _must _have more important tasks to do out east?"

_Because I was afraid something like what happened would happen. Because I don't like her dad, either. A lot of reasons. Why is she asking me all this? _"Just…wanted to stay with her." He realized too late how that sounded, elaborated quickly, "I know how she is about Caraway. I wanted to be here if something happened. If she needed me. _Why _does it matter?" He lost patience in his own answers. 

"I'm sorry." Miss Satel laughed again, but this time at herself. "I'm interrogating you, aren't I? I don't mean to, Squall. You see, I have not seen Rinoa in so long. For months I have wondered what has become of her…" For the first time since Squall had met her, Miss Satel's face creased in concern. 

"Then why are you asking me?" Squall cast an almost angry stare at her. "Why don't you ask her?"

"You have been with her for all this time, haven't you?" Miss Satel's expression and voice indicated no accusations; she wasn't asking him for the sake of being judgmental. 

He relaxed some. "Yeah…" _What's up with her? She seems like she's worried about something._

Miss Satel folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them—something, Squall couldn't help but notice, that _Rinoa _did when she was admitting something. "She was a precious child. Now I hardly know her. She has never worked well on her own. My hope would be that, outside this house, she doesn't have to. And I worry…what has happened to her, to make her so strong? She was never a petty girl, but until that business with her Forest Owls group, she was untouched by any real danger. Now, it seems almost as though she is used to it." She looked up again to face Squall's intent stare, peering at him inquisitively. 

Squall had watched her as she said all this, leaning on one arm and absently resting his other over the top of the back of his squarish, wooden chair. He said nothing, simply met her stare.

"I know she is not fragile," the old woman's voice became but a whisper, "but you must understand, I have known her since she was born. I _care _for the child… She is a capable girl, but I worry for her." She smiled at him, hopefully. "Surely you understand that?"

"Sure." He waved his hand vaguely without removing his arm from the top of the chair. "So what are you trying to ask me? Or say to me, or whatever."

Miss Satel looked away from him and again to her hands. "She seems to trust you. I've not known her to misjudge anyone. Yet I know nothing about you."

Squall showed the first sign of amusement in this conversation. "I'm not the Bogeyman."

"No, I should hope not. But that isn't it, exactly…"

"What is it?"

"You said she is often in danger?"

"As much as anyone at the Garden."

"Yes, yes… Tell me, Squall… Would you give your life for her?"

Squall had half-expected a question such as this, and nodded ever so slightly. "If I had to." 

"But?"

"Not in a second, if that's what you're worried about. I'm not gonna throw away everything just to look heroic. That's not courageous, that's stupid. I _think_…unlike some people." _I'm not a hero wannabe…I'm not a Seifer. _"Rinoa's more resilient than you think."He watched her smile again, guessed that her worries had been at least somewhat relieved. Then, almost as though it were unimportant, he added quietly, "And she's never alone."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Rinoa. She's never alone…" Squall knew his words were confusing, even nonsensical, but didn't elaborate. 

"Never at all?"

He shook his head slowly. "…Not ever." He watched her reaction closely, trying to discern if the gravity of what he was telling her was sinking in at all. He didn't expect it to. For now, that was fine.

Miss Satel could not help a nervous smile. "I'm afraid I don't understand…"

"Of course you don't," he told her levelly. "There's too much to explain. A lot more has happened than you'd guess. Like I told you…" He paused very briefly, then lowered his voice. Quite obviously, his words were not a continuation of his previous sentence. "You want to know what her life is like, then ask her; there are some things _I _can't tell you." His eyes darted almost imperceptibly to the door of the kitchen, and Miss Satel followed his stare. 

Caraway was coming toward the door, an unusually somber expression on his narrow-eyed face. How Squall had seen the man coming was lost on her. 

"Excuse me," Squall muttered darkly as the general walked into the kitchen, and got up from his chair. He nudged it back under the table with his foot, cast Miss Satel a look that bordered on being apologetic, and left the room, not so much as pausing to glance at Caraway as he passed. 

At this point, it didn't matter where he went, as long as it wasn't _here. _

General Caraway waited until he had heard the door to the front of the house close before he said a word to Miss Satel. "Did you talk with him?"

The old woman shook her head. "He is difficult to follow in conversation, General Caraway…" She scowled, an admonishing edge to her next words. "You've misjudged him. Badly, I'm afraid."

"Why?" Caraway seemed rather fettered at the accusation. "His way of life itself is too dangerous for her. I won't have my daughter hardened to battle like some soldier!"

"Forgive my insight, General, but I'm afraid you're far too late for that." Miss Satel's voice became one of disgust, and she stood, walked to stand a few feet from Caraway, though keeping her distance from him, as though he reeked of some foul smell. "You are right—he is dangerous. He speaks with the air of one who is friend to peril. But I warn you, Caraway, you misjudge him—" She held up one finger, seemed ready to shake it at him. 

"I want her safe, Miss Satel, that is all that matters to me." Caraway's interruption earned him another scowl, this one darker than the first. She spoke needles to his ears.

"Staying here with you is no safe haven for her. You are too far in over your head as it is. This is no place for her, now. You must take care of your own matters, first. I told you this would amount to nothing, and you have not listened. Yet you are about to make trouble out of _nothing_. It is not Rinoa you should be worrying about right now, it's _you. _What has happened here is in no small part your fault. The boy has a right to be angry with you. Look in his _eyes _when you talk with him about Rinoa, Caraway."

"I have. And I see nothing. It is why I'm worried that—"

"You see _nothing!_" Miss Satel exclaimed.

"He is too cold, Miss Satel."

"If there is anyone here who is being cold, it is you." She turned her back on him, sat down again in her seat. She propped her elbow on the arm of the chair, leaned into it with a fluid motion that belied her age. When she spoke again, it was almost to herself. "I fear, General, too cold to recognize a caring heart when you see one. I am just an old woman. Yet, I have trouble asking him the questions you want me to ask of him. There is no doubt in my mind that he truly loves Rinoa. Were I you, I would at least _try _to see him for something other than a trained attack artist. He has been nothing but honest and outright with you since day one. Still, you do not trust him. It is _you _who hides." She turned in her seat, fixed the general with a doleful stare. "What has happened to you, Caraway Heartilly? Did Julia's death rob you of all your senses? Have the Galbadians brainwashed you into being so unearthly rigid?" She released a heavy sigh, shook her head sadly. "You have never been so naïve as I see you now."

"I am not naïve, Vera," he argued, addressing Miss Satel by her first name in his fervency. "_She _is in as much danger with the likes of SeeD and Garden—particularly with _him_—as she would be if she spent every night in a dragon's lair." 

At this, Miss Satel cackled, almost wickedly, and answered him with a disappointed expression and wry words of admonishment. "General, no matter what the circumstances…" She sported that sure, sideways smile that was such a trademark habit of hers, held up one finger to lean it toward the general, not quite pointing at him. "My dear Caraway, Rinoa is safer with that boy than she would be if she had an _army _of dragons to protect her."

_Damn… _Squall kicked at a stone that was conveniently near his boot, watched it clatter down the walkway leading from Caraway's mansion. He'd had to end the conversation with Miss Satel as best he could. He could hardly have continued on such a note with Caraway in the room, and now he feared that by leaving so abruptly, he'd made himself seem as though he had some great secret to hide. Perhaps he did. But their talk had ended awkwardly, without a chance to explain himself, without a chance to truly understand what it was that she had wanted of him. 

He felt bad. For no other reason than he thought he'd confused old Miss Satel, likely frightened her as well. _That's what I get, I guess. _Vaguely he wondered whether she had mentioned their conversation to Caraway once he had left. It didn't matter. Caraway saw Squall as a threat—that much was obvious—and there was little Squall could do to worsen that situation. It seemed like an excuse, though—all this fuss over a dog, a hotel room, and a princess-slash-sorceress's "boyfriend?" Squall wondered not for the first time if Caraway saw Rinoa as anything but a princess that was not acting like one. One would think the general had more pressing matters to waste his resources on. And yet…

Squall couldn't help thinking that everything—this hot little feud that existed in a family that could hardly be called one, Caraway's constant attempts at putting up a façade that he hadn't the practice to maintain, and even the talk with Miss Satel that had taken place only a minute ago—all seemed shaky, displaced. The only person whose attitude Squall understood was Rinoa's, and that was by default. Caraway certainly had all the quirks that Rinoa complained about, and Squall could understand why she despised him so. But something about his refusal to admit to anything at all, was uncharacteristic of him. He was attempting something that he wasn't good at: lying. It was as though he was doing so because he had been told to, not because he would have in the first place. The same with Miss Satel's questions, which had seemed…recited. She'd looked almost ashamed of asking them. He'd gotten the impression from the beginning that she had tried not to hurt his feelings. 

But all these conclusions were nothing more than speculation, and Squall knew it. He couldn't, and _would not, _make an issue out of something that might not exist at all. Perhaps Miss Satel was simply worried about Rinoa's wellbeing. Perhaps the general had simply used Angelo to bring Rinoa back because he wanted "his" kid home with him. Perhaps General Caraway was simply nothing more than an aristocratic asshole. Perhaps it didn't amount to anything—_Just get the dog and get out of here._

But what if it did?

Squall had developed a feeling that gnawed at his insides; he hated that feeling. It always meant that something wasn't straight, and that the distortion was a potentially dangerous one. _Why the hell am I thinking this much?_

"Well, let's see—" Squall turned around to see Rinoa walking towards him from across the lawn. Apparently she'd chosen some other exit from the house, and had come around. She stopped in front of him, smiling. "You don't talk much, you have a troubled past, you have a _habit _of thinking too much, your mind goes at crazy and reckless speeds from one thought to another, and, oh, did I mention somewhere in there that your name is Squall Leonhart?" She placed a gentle hand on his chest, over Griever, and beamed kindly up at him. "He's just that way sometimes, you know." She leaned against him. "Plus things haven't exactly been going right since we got here." She cocked her head to one side as she looked up at him, added wearily, "Surprise." 

Squall ignored the fact that the last word had been sarcastic. His brow raised slightly in a bemused expression that brightened his solemn face a little. "Yeah…you're wearing yellow." 

Close to him as she was, Rinoa hadn't expected this answer and laughed. "Yes."

"And _denim_? I don't think I've ever seen you wear shorts, except with that…blue thing you wear, a lot. With the wings on the back?"

"Yes, I know what you're talking about. I only wore it every day of last year, just about. Anyway, I still have some things here that I left behind. …Is there a problem?"

"…No, no," Squall stammered. "You just…never wear anything that isn't blue. And I thought you don't like jeans. Or you didn't. I mean—" He stopped himself, realizing he was blundering like a fool, and just smiled. "You look nice." He shook his head, glanced over her once more. She still sported his ring as always. Only her attire was different. But what a difference.

Rinoa giggled at his dumbstruck expression, then hugged him tightly about his middle, practically jumping at him. "_That _was priceless."

"You're playful this morning." Squall regained his composure, but didn't manage to rid himself of a small smile, nor did he try to. 

"To offset _your _bad mood," she kidded, leering up at him with a disapproving expression that did not last for long. "Come on. Let's not let all this stuff get to us, okay?"

"I'll try. What are we doing?"

"Standing here talking, and I'm hugging you." She tightened her hold on him, grinning pleasantly.

"_Besides _that…" _You know what I mean. _Nevertheless, he found himself embracing her in return, closing his eyes with a sigh of quiet relief. It was good to know she wasn't still irritated with him. He lowered his voice to a murmur, leaned forward enough to speak close to her ear. "You act like you have something in mind." When she looked up at him, about to answer, he interrupted, still keeping his voice low and smiling softly. "And don't think you can deny it." He'd caught the playful excuse she was about to give him, utilized a phrase she so often used on him. "Out with it." 

Her smile faded a little, not from worry but thoughtfulness. "Actually, what I have in mind can't happen until evening. I have a friend here, who leads a band that plays at the Gate…it's near the carousel clock. You've probably seen it."

"Yeah…but I remember it being Gate _Club, _not just Gate." Squall was admittedly skeptical; the word "Club" did not hold a good impression in his mind, and he was wary of any place that sported the title. 

"It's not _that _kind of club! Don't worry so much. I wouldn't go to places like that anyway."

"I know, I know—" Squall held one hand up a little defensively. "—sorry. What's the guy's name?"

Rinoa laughed a little. "His real name or the one he goes by?"

"The one he goes by, I guess."

"Skip. It's not anything original. His real name—now _that's _original." She rolled her eyes, though she seemed more amused than exasperated. "How's Roseblat for a given name?"

Squall sneered. "Not exactly what I'd call flattering." He folded his arms, closed his eyes. "This is why I'm glad I got to _choose _my name. Or my last name, anyway." _Roseblat. Hell. _"I'm afraid to _ask _about his last name."

"Brown," she answered dryly. "Talk about contrast. Roseblat Brown. Terrible, isn't it?"

"Yeah." As they spoke, they had started walking, almost unconsciously, side-by-side along the curb. Squall hadn't really taken notice of their meandering until now, and glanced around him with a bored expression. "So we can go see this friend of yours tonight, what about now? Not to bring a sore subject up, but aren't you going to start trying to work things out about Angelo any time soon? Nothing will happen if you don't, you know."

"I know…" Rinoa hung her head a little, stared at the ground for a few paces before looking at him again. "I still don't know what to say to him… He's a spoiled brat and won't do anything that he doesn't want to unless you can find a way of forcing him."

_Yeah, I agree with that, but a lot of this is just because you don't want to face him. _They passed another, older couple on the sidewalk, and Squall instinctively continued his muted conversation with Rinoa. It was a reflex, a paranoid one; he didn't like the idea of anyone listening in on a one-on-one discussion he was having. Particularly with Rinoa. _And he doesn't like _me, _anymore, I can tell you that. But that's actually the part of how he's acting that I halfway understand, and…I don't want to hang around if I'm not wanted. _"I just don't wanna cause any more trouble than I have to. Seems to follow me around wherever the hell I go." His voice sank to a snarl of mild irritation. "I should have the surgeon general's warning plastered to my hand or something." 

Giggling, Rinoa acknowledged his point. "Oh, people never listen to those things, anyway," she said, still grinning.

Squall appreciated the sentiment, but disliked their sidetracking from the original subject. "No, they don't—are you gonna talk to your dad any time soon?"

"I'm not sure…" She looked a tad guilty, for a moment. "I keep telling myself I'll do it 'tomorrow.'"

"Tomorrow doesn't exist. You can only live in Today," Squall pointed out. "And I'm not gonna talk to him for you."

"I didn't ask you to." Rinoa frowned. "I just wish I knew what to say…I don't have a plan of…of anything. And I know you don't know what to do any more than I do…"

Squall stopped suddenly, looked up. Rinoa felt his thoughts transition from the Dog Dilemma to something else, and a brief wave of nausea made her falter. But that feeling was gone; Squall had fought it away. 

They were standing not far from the outside entrance of the gates of Deling City. Before them yawned one of the giant, spear-toothed maws of the archway.

Squall stared at the needle-sharp points of those teeth, suddenly lost in a memory of watching them from above, watching the gates fall three stories to bite at the asphalt road, trapping Sorceress Edea within their bars. Rinoa nudged him, but he would go no further.

"Come on…" She pulled on his arm, and he looked down at her with narrowing eyes. Still he would not budge. "You've had worse happen to you. You can't just avoid everything that reminds you of a bad experience. It wasn't even on this side of the road."

Seeming to shrug off his reverie, Squall sighed quietly, nodded. "Yeah…sorry." He made a point to tell himself not to think about it. Any of it. "Anyway, all I'm saying is, if we're gonna stay here a long time, I want to know." They'd started walking again, picked up the pace a little as they passed under the first set of gates.

"Well, define 'a long time.'"

"I don't know. Three weeks? A month? Anything like that. I just don't wanna be hanging around hoping we'll be leaving the next day when we're not going to be. I hate waiting on things like that. If I know ahead of time, I'll find something to do so I don't end up sitting on my ass the whole time." _This is almost as bad as all the emissary crap I had to deal with in Esthar last year. _Squall loathed to even remind himself of the mindlessly _boring _alliance negotiations that lasted hours, the day-long waits in the extravagant, but equally boring hotel rooms. Never again did he want to have to amuse himself by staring out the window and watching small aircraft fly past.

"I don't know," Rinoa answered him after a long silence. "But…plan on it, I guess. "

"Great." Squall kept himself from glancing across the road at the opposite walkway. "Now I just have to find something to do." No sooner had he said this when a harsh, metallic-sounding _crack _startled both of them into a dead stop. 

It seemed to Squall that his heart missed a couple beats. That sound was hauntingly familiar. A reflex born of instinctual alarm caused him to whirl halfway around, his scowl darting to the peak of the giant archway. He froze. He watched the huge, black spikes of the gate start their plunge downward, saw them drive into the paved ground with a crash. Behind him, the same sound of a hitch being released, the creaking sound of massive chain reels rang in his ears. The second gate followed the first, trapping the doomed inside the archway. It was suddenly dark out. Golden eyes targeted him, froze him in place. He couldn't move. A crowd was screaming at him.He was so _cold, _he could not breathe. He was falling.

_Squall!_

Rinoa's sharp voice in his mind brought him back to the present. He became aware of her hand on his shoulder, and turned his head to stare numbly at it. His heart still pounded in his ears. He fought back a tremor. 

"Are you still with me?" Rinoa narrowed her eyes at him skeptically, uncertain if he'd fully brought himself out of his short, conscious nightmare. Her hand tightened on his arm.

Squall drew in a slow breath, embarrassed and determined to steady himself. He looked back to the archway. Indeed, the gate had started to fall, but unlike the scene Squall's mind had conjured, the huge metal barrier had caught itself in mid-plummet, and was on its way back up. The chain reels creaked, but not in the rapidly descending fashion Squall had imagined he'd heard. The gate at the other end of the arch had not budged to begin with. "Yeah," he murmured quietly, removing his gaze away from the harmless spectacle and folding his arms. His stare lowered, narrowed to mere slits, scowling at the offending ground. "I'll survive." He closed his eyes, closed out the vision, closed out the memory. Closed out the nightmare.

Rinoa watched him carefully, worried for him. Though he'd done little more than stand and stare at the gates when he'd first heard the sound, Rinoa had felt his livid panic and seen the images his mind had conjured, and knew that a far more violent reaction had taken place inside of him. 

Someone shouted at them from across the street. "Hey, you guys alright over there?" Rinoa looked to see an aging, rather plump-looking man emerge from a door that led inside the wall of the arch. He looked to be a maintenance worker, with a thick belt lined with every genre of hand tools strapped snugly to his large middle. He flicked a cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, adjusted a worn, dark blue hat atop his head and cast them a crooked grin. "Looks like I gave you a little scare. Sorry about that." He indicated the gate, which had resumed its usual position at the top of the arch. "Was working on a stuck cog. Got it working again, as you can see, but I forgot to put the locks in place. Damn near scared the hell out of me when the whole thing started to drop. Glad you two weren't under it, if I hadn't been able to stop it right away."

Squall seemed to be ignoring the worker, so Rinoa answered, calling across the way. "Oh, we're fine. Just a little startled, that's all. Next time look before you work. You should have put up some construction tape or something."

"Yeah, sorry again. Hey—" The man motioned vaguely at Squall. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

It took a mental reminder from Rinoa for Squall to realize he was the one being spoken to. "Maybe." He glanced in the man's general direction. "I couldn't tell you."

"Eh, well," said the old worker, "I guess I'll think of it later. Back to work for me. You two have a good day." He waved briskly, turned around and disappeared through the door again.

_Whatever… _Squall wasted no more time standing there. He wanted to be out from under that damned place. Without a word, he started a swift walk for the other side. 

Rinoa had to run a few steps to catch up with him, and decided it would be wise not to speak again until they were well away from the doorway of Squall's recent, nightmarish past.

*

Angelo was bored. 

He lay on his stomach, head between his paws. For the past two hours, he had waited in this fashion by the door of the mansion's foyer. The dog released a very human-like sigh through his black nose, and once again trained his equally black eyes on the door. He gave a quiet, frustrated whine. Rinoa hadn't returned once since she'd left that morning. She and Squall—the one Angelo had come to think of as Rinoa's significant other—had been acting oddly as of late, and their strange air of anxiety unsettled him. He wanted to understand what was upsetting them. It was not unusual for Squall to be dark of demeanor. That was common enough. But Angelo knew that a frown usually meant unhappiness in people, and he had seen Rinoa frown five times in the past two days. Even Rinoa's father and Miss Satel seemed unnerved for some reason.

So he was worried. He could not see an immediately evident explanation for everyone's foul mood. No one was missing. No one was sick. No one was hurt or in danger. What was the problem?

Angelo had heard his name many times in the past few days. He knew that some great discussion was about him. He knew words, too, like stop, you, me, easy, wrong, problem, can't. Many others, but he had heard these more frequently and when they were said, it was usually just before or after his name was mentioned. 

There were other words, too. Words he didn't understand like keep, sell, situation, complicated, and lie (when not followed by the word "down," or "here."). None of these words were descriptions he could understand or things that he could do, hear, see, taste, feel or smell. He'd heard these used close to his name, too. 

There had been an odd scent about the house. It smelt of tension, perhaps danger. If this was what everyone was reacting to, then Angelo could understand why Rinoa was so uneasy. But Angelo didn't know what caused the smell, and therefore he couldn't do anything to stop it. He'd tried. He'd searched the entire house for the source, but the tense odor seemed to come from everywhere. Strangely, when Angelo left the house, the smell vanished. It wasn't a wonder Rinoa and Squall stayed away from the house so much. But why, then, did they leave _him _here?

Angelo's ears pricked up. Someone was at the door. But not the foyer door. A knocking was coming from one of the three doors at the other end of the house. Angelo listened. The middle back door. He stood up, turned and gazed down the long hallway, past the stairs and kitchens, powder room, and into the den at the far reaches of his clear vision. Beyond the wall of the den was a hallway, with three doors to the outside: one on each end, and one in the center. The two on the end led to small balconies with stairs to the ground not ten feet below. The center door led to another balcony, this one with no stairs. The knock had been from the outside. How had someone gotten onto the middle balcony without stairs? No one had gone _out _that door. Angelo would have heard that. 

The knock came again, and this time Angelo heard booted feet rushing across the wood floor to answer it. The sound of the door opening came, and with it were muffled voices. None of those voices were raised in jovial greeting. They were all solemn and lowered and one had a very, very strange accent. Angelo could not make out any words. The remnants of a breeze from the briefly opened door wafted into the foyer, and Angelo tentatively tested the air. He licked his nose in puzzlement. Along with the usual outdoor scents were the smells of four living things: Caraway, and four others that the dog did not recognize, all male. 

Curiosity peaked, Angelo padded down the hallway, head low as though stalking through underbrush. He decided to have a little fun and "spy" on the guests. It wasn't like there was anything better for him to do.

As he came closer, the voices became clearer. Yes, there was _definitely _something very strange about one of the voices. It was not normal. Too low, too sylibant, too throaty. It was not the voice of a human. It was the voice of an animal. And it was speaking human language! 

Angelo crept to the wall that barred him from the room with the activity. He could hear the voices clearly, now, though he understood only a little of what was said. Caraway's voice, tense and anxious, burst forth in a whispered torrent of reprimand.

"You were supposed to arrive last night. And who gave you permission to bring these _things _into my house? Haven't you heard of the front door?"

"Too conspicuous," answered another human voice in a light, patient tone.

"You call _this _inconspicuous?"

By now, Angelo had managed to inch along to the edge of the doorway, sliding along on his belly like a furry reptile. He peeked his muzzle around the doorframe, pricking his ears to hear and twitching his nose to smell.

Standing at the balcony door, opposite Caraway, where two humans—and two monsters who had somehow squeezed themselves through the entrance. One man, he who had spoken a moment ago, was lithe and pale, narrow eyes and cropped black hair painting a visage of slyness. The scent of his uniform smacked of Galbadia. The human beside him was a child, very 

young and small. He had his head bowed to the floor. He seemed in a stupor, unaware of or uninterested in all that was around him. And he looked somehow familiar…

The monsters were equally large and little. The smaller one was a shady-looking creature, devil-like. It was short, pink, toothy, and its huge yellow eyes scanned the room with unholy curiosity. 

The large one was a blue-tinted dragon, hunchbacked and jut-jawed, with an arrow-point tail twice as long as its body was tall. It stood upright, at least ten feet at the shoulder, shifting its weight from one foot to the other. Short wings that looked more like webbed hands wavered restlessly at its back. It was from this beast that the next human words came, in a voice guttural as a boar's.

"Therre wur…comp-li-cayshunss," the creature gargled, unnatural intelligence alight in its eyes. "We…wur not awarre of ssurten…difficultees. It sseem't prrudent that we sshould rrecalculate owerr pozisshyon. G-g-kh! The daughter is a ssorceress, and a SseeD iss wwithh hur! Theesse, you did not mmenchyon to uss. What we wannt to know nnow, iss why? Why not tell uss?"

"How should I have known!" Caraway snapped in frustration. "You said the explosion was to be a _diversion! _You nearly _murdered _my daughter! I should be the one asking the questions, because _I _am the one who must deal with her, _and _her…companion." He finished abruptly. "I have no obligation to answer to you."

"Of course you don't," said the human stranger calmly. "I am not a villain, my good general. As I explained to you before, I intend no one any harm. And no harm will come to anyone, so long as you allow me to do my business unhindered. I assure you, if I had known that your daughter would be staying anywhere else but her own home, I'd have consulted you, first."

"How close are you to being done, here?"

"Close. We abandoned the excavation last night because of variables we have already cited. We will try again…later. We have yet to determine a date."

"And…no more blowing up buildings, if you please."

The younger man offered a dismissive wave. "Oh, very well. We will think of another way. I wouldn't want any undue casualties. Human collateral damage is _not _a stain I intend to leave on my resume." He pressed his palms together as if praying. "But I promise you, the beast _will _be removed. We will solve your problem before it starts, General Caraway."

Caraway nodded slowly, but only seemed to sadden at the reassurance. "I am no general," he murmured. "I am just an old fool whom nobody knows is a fool."

"Oh, come, come, now," the strange man scolded. "Cheer up! You'll be rid of us in a few days, eh?"

"I am still a pawn of your brutal society, Jack."

"But a living pawn." The man turned away then, in preparation of walking out the door. "Just be glad about that, General. There may not be a sorceress war any longer, but _we _still exist. Galbadia lives on, and as long as it does, so shall our 'conquest' of this world, as you so call it."

"It's useless, you know. You're too disorganized to rule a world."

"Perhaps. For now. But one day, I pledge, Galbadia _will _triumph. Maybe not in my lifetime or yours, but one day. There is no empire that has survived so long, General Caraway, not _even _the fabled Centra, and we will continue to survive and flourish."

Caraway responded only with silence and a leer full of contempt. 

"Come, boy," the stranger barked, and beckoned to the child, who obeyed mindlessly.

Angelo sniffed again at the air, carefully. The child's smell…also familiar.

Caraway watched mutely as the dragon ducked its head neatly under the doorway, tucked its wings by its sides and wriggled through to the outside, followed closely by the man, child and other demonic creature, all of which climbed atop the dragon's hunched spine and rode it to the edge of the balcony, where it leapt off—and was seemingly gone. No sound of flapping wings, nor thump of claws on the ground not far below. Nothing.

Angelo scurried away quickly when the general retreated for the hallway. As quietly as he could, the dog hurried back to the foyer, where he set down beside the door once more, looking no more, no less bored on his patient vigil than he had an hour ago.

Caraway stepped into the hallway and made his way to the stairwell. He didn't give Angelo a second glance, or a first one, for that matter. 

Before the general had disappeared up to the second floor, Angelo thought he heard a choke—and then the sound of a crying man vanished behind one of the mansion's thickest doors.

"You know, it's nice," Squall murmured as they rounded the corner to the first strip mall of the inner city, "…just to be away from everything for a little while. By ourselves."

Rinoa turned away from a window display she had been scrutinizing. "We don't get much time to take walks like this back at the Garden," she said. Then, nodding, "I thought it would be good to forget about everything for a day."

"Just as long as I don't end up playing the coat rack, again." Scowling deeper, Squall glanced with disinterest at a passing window shopper. "I've had enough for one week. Of everything."

"Squall, don't pout. You know I wasn't planning on that."

"I also know you can't resist a good sale when you see one."

"If you wanna say something, just say it."

"I wasn't _saying _anything."

"Then why were you fussing?"

"I'm not fussing. I _thought _I just gave you a compliment."

Oblivious to Squall and Rinoa's quibbling, the stretch of shops were just beginning to buzz with customers. Busses ferried people to and fro, pigeon hawks waited atop old smoke stacks for an opportunity at lunch. It was a very different city in the daytime. Bright, peopled, but not too crowded. Pleasant.

It was an easy-going atmosphere that Squall wished he felt. Oh, he wasn't particularly anxious about anything specific, and his short spat with Rinoa didn't last long. Despite everything that had happened, he wasn't in a bad mood. In fact, he felt unusually perked, ready to _do _something. He dared to think that he might actually have some entertainment while he was here. Rinoa was right, of course—just a day to forget about everything. 

He still felt like a ghost, walking these streets. 

_As far as everyone here knows, I died here…if anyone even remembers what I look like. _Even Caraway had shown obvious surprise at Squall's appearance. There was something the SeeD didn't like about this place, a lingering nightmare, of sorts…

He forced himself to put the feeling in the back of his mind. _It's not important…_ His brooding was interrupted; he felt Rinoa come up behind him, her hands slip under his jacket to slide soothingly up his back, stopping at his shoulders. He closed his eyes, chastising himself even as her touch eased his discomfort. She could feel his worries, his fears, his suspicions. How often it was that he forgot this seemingly obvious fact. She had only to pay attention while he was lost in his dark muse of apprehension. Had anyone else had this ability over him, he would have considered it intrusive. With Rinoa, he felt simple relief that there was someone else in this world who truly understood why this city made him feel like he was sinking. Drowning in memories.

He stood with Rinoa at the street curb, waiting for the next opportunity to cross without running the risk of being flattened by the vehicles of never-watchful drivers. Already he'd passed up three chances. His mind was too preoccupied with itself and Rinoa, who was further distracting him from the traffic by holding onto him tightly from behind. He was thankful the general population seemed too busy with their own affairs to notice the embarrassing antics of the young woman tacked to his back. Smirking, he half-turned to snatch at her. "Do you mind? I'm trying to cross the street, here."

She evaded him deftly and continued to hang onto his waist. "And _I'm _trying to have a little fun," she returned. "Squall, stop moping and thinking so hard for once. Get a grip. We're here to have a good time, remember?"

"Sorry."

Rinoa laughed and, without warning, dashed across the street. _Well guess what? You're It!_

After recovering from his momentary bewilderment, Squall abruptly forgot his woes, allowed himself a wry smile, and chased after her.

_Such a wonder, that He would have chosen such a fool. Well, I suppose I should have expected it from him, all death and destruction that he is. He _would _choose a charge such as that boy. Idiot. Ungracious imbecile! A boy—hardly nineteen, for that matter—and this girl. They're powerful, for certain. But why, _why, _my love, why choose such obvious imperfection? I know why. They are like we were, once. I know. That attracted you, didn't it? Fool. You are such a fool. What else have you unlearned in my absence? That love is a dangerous and futile effort among opposites? Ha! How right you were! How I should have listened…_

_But there they are, flirting and romping with each other through streets of the pompous, without a care, with pure freedom. Freedom of children._

_That bitch Phoenix. You dare to call them your children. You, who are not even as old as I, dare to call any earthly thing your child! Why bother? All ends in death, even for us, we who call ourselves immortal. It must. There is no other way. No other end. Hyne was right. She was absolutely right. We should have listened to her._

_I can smell Hyne's power in the boy and his mate. Yes, those two are eternally connected—of such bliss I wish I could have retained the memory! Alas, it has left me._

_But what did you see in them, I wonder? Love, why did you choose this boy? Why Phoenix's 'child'? He has strong emotions connected to this place. I wonder what memories drive him to feel so powerfully? I can't recall ever seeing him here in my brief periods of wakefulness. Yet, I can feel he has been here before, and recently. I shall have to investigate this matter. Much has happened during my slumber._

_Is it they whom you have sent to save me, love? I can only hope you are right, and I am the one who is delusional._

_Sleep. It is coming again…_

"Gotcha!"

Squall swung around the corner of the alley, ambushing her, and caught Rinoa around the waist just as she turned on her heel to flee. Smirking triumphantly, he leaned back against the brick wall of the building, breathing heavily as he relentlessly clutched a giddily grinning Rinoa against him. "You're 'It,'" he rumbled breathlessly.

"Okay. I give up." Rinoa giggled in shrill glee as she squirmed in a not-too-serious attempt at escaping Squall's arms. "You win," she panted, ceasing her struggles and leaning back into his supportive embrace. None the worse for wear, Squall took the time to catch his own breath. 

It had been hide-and-seek with no bases. Particularly interesting, since Rinoa could make herself appear and disappear at will, while Squall had the ability to sense her location, invisible of not. Eyes closed, he took advantage of this small moment of quiet, filling his senses with her presence, more than a simple sense of her location. A reminder to himself, a wonderful one, that he belonged to no one but her, and that as long as he was with her, everything would be all right. Replacing the fading adrenaline of their game, an absolute peace in the act of standing there, holding each other for no other reason than they wanted to. Squall tilted his head back, finally calming his drumming pulse and heavy breaths. He smiled. Love did not get any simpler than this. And it was wonderful.

"I could just stand here for the rest of the day," Rinoa mused aloud.

Squall nodded silently. It sounded like a good idea to him. _Maybe, for once, nothing interesting will happen._

"Ho, look-ie here," came a raucous voice from above them, "isn't this sweet?"

Squall, startled out of his sedate daze, opened his eyes to see someone crouching on the roof of the building he was leaning against. The sun was high, and he couldn't see much of the man except a dark blue silhouette, but he could discern the shape of a knife in the shadow's hand, and knew instantly they were in trouble. _Thought too soon. Damn. _Of all the types to catch them romancing in an alley, it had to be the local street thugs. 

Rinoa heard Squall's thoughts, and was ready when he pushed her away from him. They both spun around to stand back to back in the center of the alley as nine of the alley crew fell from above, with a dozen or so more remaining on the rooftops, all armed with knives or brass knuckles. Squall plucked three of them from the air as they jumped down, hurling each man aside and sending them skidding on their backs; one such unfortunate soul was thrown straight into the wall, his head cracking against the brick. The unlucky boy—couldn't have been older than sixteen—fell into a heap and did not move. 

The others were out of Squall's reach, and two of the downed gangsters eventually got up and rejoined their comrades. Squall and Rinoa were surrounded. It was a narrow alley, and there was not much room to move.

Neither Squall or Rinoa had much fear of the brutes, some of which were a head taller and much broader than Squall. As the lanky-looking thug who had spoken moments before—apparently the oldest of the gang—circled them, Squall assessed their situation, creating escape routes in his mind, gauging his ability against their arsenal of manpower. He counted his blessings and hoped he didn't have to kill anyone else to get Rinoa and himself out of this. He relaxed and let his hands down by his sides, deciding not to give any further indication that he was quite ready and able to defend himself. Better to let them underestimate him, and Rinoa. There would be fewer casualties that way.

_Any ideas? _Rinoa asked him silently, pressing her back against his when the gang's skinny leader came a little too close to her for comfort.

_Just wait for an opportunity. Best if you don't draw attention with magic. It's one thing if there's a SeeD in town. It'll be another if they find out you're a sorceress._

_Sounds like a good idea. _

"Rough couple," the talkative thug was saying, oblivious to their unheard conversation. He was a scruffy-looking guy, sandy-haired and somewhat scrawny. He came around full-circle to stare Squall in the eyes. "Took out Little Nick. Bad move, my man." He waved his dagger-armed fist in Squall's face. "Gonna have to pay for that, you know."

Squall sneered. "If money is what you want, I don't carry cash."

"Who said I wanted your money?" The thug displayed a grin full of yellowed teeth, and glanced around at his gang, which laughed. "Pocket change ain't my style. Naw, man, I don't want your wallet. I want your coat."

Squall raised his eyebrows. "My coat?"

"Sure. Thing's gotta be worth two 'er three thousand gil, somethin' like that. An' it'll keep me warm at night, see? I'm a practical kinda guy, man, I take what I need. Way I figure it, if you rich enough t' buy yourself a coat like that, you can get another one anytime. So I take the coat, we let you go. I get a new coat, an' you get your lives. That way, we'll all be happy. Simple 's that."

Squall glanced around. He counted twenty three thugs in his immediate range of sight. "I don't think so," he snarled quietly, formulating a plan in his mind. If he could get the knife from the skinny one's hand, he could use it, could get himself and Rinoa out of the alley in a manner of seconds and leave only injured, not dead, gangsters behind.

"Aw, now that's not the kinda attitude we take kindly to 'round here." The thugs gave a collective murmur of threat, some taking a step closer to their "victims," a few more jumping down from the rooftops. "Just hand over the coat," said the skinny one, "and you and the pretty lady can go free. We won't have to add any more scratches to that girl-catchin' scar-face a' yours." Smirking, he waved his knife at Squall's face once again.

_Now, Rinoa! Get down!_

Squall's hand struck out and caught the skinny thug's wrist, twisting it and snatching the knife away in the same movement. Ducking a swing from one of the bigger, taller men, Squall slammed the butt of the dagger into the back of the lanky thug's knees, forcing him to the ground. He watched Rinoa slip through a breach in the circle of men that had surrounded them, and hurried to follow her. He stood and caught the arm of another thug who had tried to stab him, kneed the man in the groin, and ducked between two more confused gangsters. A gun went off somewhere, and the ground exploded next to him. 

He and Rinoa got halfway down the alley before they found themselves surrounded once again, by more men—and a couple women, Squall noticed—who had jumped down from the roof to cut them off. Now the group was giving them a wider berth, and parted when their lanky spokesman pushed through their ranks. The leader snatched another knife from one of his buddies, and stalked toward Squall with deadly intent in his eyes.

Squall relaxed and, even before the man could reach him, tossed the dagger he'd taken to the ground. "I don't want any trouble," he growled. "Believe me, you're only hurting yourself by trying to trap us here. Let us go, and we won't cause any problems."

"Shut your mouth, pussy rich boy!" Someone yelled from the rooftops.

The leader picked up his discarded dagger, and held both weapons ready, one in each hand. "That was a damn fool thing you did. You think I'm messin' with you, you son of a bitch?"

Rinoa started to say something in Squall's defense, but he held her back, pleading with her not to speak.

"Just let us go," he repeated, shaking his head. "It's the last time I'm gonna ask."

"What'chu think you are, man? You think you can get past all of us? You think I'm gonna buy your shit? Gimme the damn coat, an' I'll _think _'bout lettin' you go."

Rinoa couldn't help herself any longer, she pushed past Squall's restraining arm and stepped forward. "If you need a coat, then ask for one! You don't have to steal it." She turned around to address the rest of them. "We'll be happy to buy one for each of you, if you need coats. Please…" She looked at the thin leader again. "Put away your knives and guns. We'll help you if you don't hurt us." A shadow overtook the alley as the sun hid behind a cloud. 

The leader sneered, almost laughing. "Bullshit. That's _bullshit, _lady."

"It is _not,_" Rinoa returned stubbornly. "I'm not lying to you. If you'll just put your weapons away, we'll get all of you coats, and meals if you need them. You don't have to steal anything or hurt anyone."

Squall could hardly believe his eyes. The group seemed to be buying it—not that it was a lie, but it surprised him to see the previously incensed leader hesitating, glancing from side to side as if to seek assistance from his homeless army. "Well…I dunno." He took a sudden, threatening step toward her, and Squall quickly interposed himself between them. "Gimme the proof," the lanky man spat. "I wanna see that shiny blue credit card you say you got. Show me this ain't no bullshit."

Squall sighed. He supposed it couldn't hurt. Credit cards were fairly secure. Waterproof, magnet-proof and DNA-tagged so that they couldn't be stolen, they wouldn't function unless their true owner was holding them. He fished in his pocket for the object, pulled out the blue-colored, paper-thin circuit card and held it up for the thug to see. 

The leader's eyes went wide, and he snatched the card away, staring at it. "I ain't never even seen one o' these things before." He looked up at Rinoa, dumbfounded. "You mean you for real?"

Rinoa grinned. "Absolutely."

"You ain't never seen one," called the outspoken voice from the roof, "so how y' know what you're lookin' at 's real? Could be somethin' else, they're jus' trying to call it a credit card!"

"Yeah, an' he killed Nick, too! What 'bout that, Marley?"

The lanky leader, evidently Marley, spun around and hissed, "don't call my name, fool! I'll shove th' card up your sorry ass if y' don't shut up!" But he turned immediately on Squall and hurled the card back at him. "Take y'damn card back, man!" he barked. "We don't want it, an' we don't need it! What _I _need right now, is that coat o' yours. My man's right. We can't trust you. Now pay up, or I'll _shut _you up!" Again he brandished his knives.

Squall sighed again, shaking his head. He'd almost dared to hope Rinoa's idea would pull through.

A sharp series of barking sound echoed down the alley, and one of the thugs howled in pain and anger, kicking out at a growling canine that had suddenly rushed in from behind and bitten him squarely in the calf.

"Angelo!" Rinoa started forward, but Squall caught her and held her.

"Get off me, bitch!" The man under assault from the dog's teeth kicked out and backed away a few steps. Angelo let go, and slipped through the opening in the wall of people, running toward Squall and Rinoa, and taking up a protective stance in front of the former. Angelo barked loudly, baring his teeth at Marley and snarling when the man came a step closer.

Marley laughed, waving a dagger at the dog. "Lookit th' pooch! Guess we're gonna have _two _coats to wear when we're done here, eh?"

Rinoa again had to be restrained by Squall. "Don't you touch him!"

Marley lunged at Angelo, who backed up toward Squall, still barking. Marley's hand got too close, and Angelo rewarded him with a sharp nip on the knuckles. Marley yelped in pain. Rinoa cried out for Angelo to get away. Squall seemed preoccupied, staring at the scene dispassionately.

Marley slashed at Angelo, but missed. The dog whimpered once, then continued barking. "'Zat your dog?" Marley shouted to Squall. "'Cuz in a second, that mutt's gonna be a dead carcass!"

Squall looked up from the ground he'd been staring at, and smirked slightly. At first he said nothing. A peculiar sound, like that of squeaking hinges, sounded somewhere in the distance. "He's not my dog," he answered finally. The alley had become suddenly, queerly silent. Calmly, Squall raised his hand and pointed at a place somewhere behind Marley and his entourage. "_That's _my dog."

A deep growl, like distant thunder, shook the alley, causing gravel to rattle on the asphalt beneath the gang's feet. Slowly, each member of the crew turned around to see what Squall was pointing at.

Marley's jaw dropped. "Holy—!"

Three heads, grey as ashes with eyes of sickly yellow, glared down at them. Three sets of dripping, fanged jaws snarled a warning thick with fetid breath. The monster, a huge, three-headed demon-dog, all flesh and muscle and lashing a massive, reptilian tail, flattened its ears and howled hideously. Cerberus tossed his heads, towering over the humans in all his dark splendor. Barely able to fit in the alley and yet somehow managing to do so without much difficulty, the Guardian Force lunged forward and snapped at the thugs viciously, snarling and snorting and yowling in rage. At Squall's request, he was aiming more to terrify than to injure. He did a good job of it.

Marley whooped and scurried out of the way as the monstrous dog snapped at him with one of its heads. "The dude's a SeeD! Scram! Get the hell outta here!" Not willing to stay to say more, Marley whirled, and sprinted with his comrades down the alley and around the corner, running as fast as his thin legs could move him. The rest of the gang scattered, shouting, cursing and screaming, from the nightmare dog that howled and lunged for them from the alley.

Once the thugs were gone, Cerberus gave one final, tri-throated howl for good measure, and vanished into a cloud of slowly dissipating mist. The distant, unnamed gate slammed shut moments later.

Squall finally let go of Rinoa, who knelt by Angelo. "You all right?" he asked her seriously, watching as she hugged her dog gratefully. 

"I'm fine," she answered after a few seconds, glancing over her shoulder. "You?"

"None the worse." _A little pissed off, though._

She nodded in agreement. _I can imagine. _A quick check revealed Angelo was free of injuries, and after standing again, Rinoa and Squall wordlessly turned and ran in the opposite direction of the gang's alleys, eager to put some distance between themselves and Marley's crew. Angelo followed close behind, whining softly all the while.

_Have I been awake, all this short time, or have I been dreaming? My thoughts, my visions, follow this boy and his lover. Is it a muse? Or am I hallucinating once again? I once thought I'd found a tunnel of truth in this chaos…was I wrong? Love, hear me! Tell me what is true, what is real! This boy who carries the aura of your presence, there is something peculiar about him. It is…a scent, a smell. Sweet, not unlike that of death. Is he truly a living being? The sorceress who binds him is living, but I sense death in her companion. Yet he is not dead. I cannot place the feeling, this strange scent. Who is he, love? He has tasted death, like no other living being has…if he is alive, at all. Something strange. That is it. I sense no _life_, there. Only life force. Can it be? Is he living the same existence as I have been these thousand years? If it is so, then his is a waking dream. _

_I will concentrate. I will study this boy, he and his partner. I will discover this mystery, and in doing so, I will finally awaken, and begin my last desperate search for you, love! I will rise again, and find you. After that, we will never be apart, again. I swear it!_

"How did Angelo escape your house?" Walking side-by-side with Rinoa, Squall passed the subway for the twelfth time that day. It was just past 9 PM. The sun was almost gone behind the buildings of the western horizon, and the streets had gone from packed to busy within the past two hours. Deling City was once again sinking under the familiar cover of night. The bright lights of the buildings obscured the stars, giving the sky a faceless, empty appearance. Even the giant moon, silver and imposing in the eastern half of the sky, did little to brighten the sullen appearance of the heavens. Street lamps crowded the moon's brilliance, tall structures covered otherwise clear patches of black sky. But despite the warring lights that lit up the night around him, Squall's thoughts were dark with uneasiness, and even a little sadness. He stopped at a crosswalk and glanced at Rinoa, who was staring down at Angelo by her feet, and hadn't heard his question. A few cars passed them while Squall waited for her to come out of her own shadowed thoughts.

Angelo whined softly, seeking Rinoa's attentions. When nosing her hand did no good, he licked at her fingertips, his whine growing louder and more insistent.

Startled, Rinoa knelt by Angelo and scratched his head affectionately, smiling a little at his contented expression of pleasure as she rubbed behind his ears.

Squall watched her, wondering silently whether she hadn't heard him at all, or if she was ignoring him. Cautiously, his mind prodded at her consciousness in an attempt to politely let her know he was trying to speak to her.

She noticed the mental "poking" after a few seconds, looking up at him over her shoulder while still petting Angelo. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Squall shook his head, waving his hand vaguely. "It wasn't that important. I was just wondering if you knew how Angelo could have gotten out of your house. Would someone let him out?"

"Not on purpose." She finished scratching Angelo's ears and started undoing a tangle in the dog's bushy mane. Angelo stood obligingly still. "He doesn't like to be kept in for a long time. He probably slipped out when nobody was looking." She smoothed out the un-tangled fur, and stood up, turning around into Squall's gentle embrace. She herself hadn't expected it, but took it in stride, figuring he'd known she needed the reassurance right now. Suddenly overwhelmed, she hid her face in his shirt, willing away tears what sought escape from beneath her eyelashes.

Squall sighed into her hair, threading his fingers through the dark strands and closing his eyes, standing with her in the yellow beam of one of the street lamps. The cold color framed their outlines, reflecting hot steel in his dark brown bangs, dull gold in Rinoa's jet-black tresses. He held her so close, he had to lean over slightly, with her tucked away protectively in his arms. Nuzzling the top of her head with his scarred brow, he whispered to her softly, voicing her thoughts aloud to himself. "…It's just not fair, is it?" He felt Rinoa tremble in his grasp.

_It shouldn't have to be like that, _she lamented silently. _My father has enough money to give all those people homes, but they've grown up believing that all rich people are enemies, _because _of people like my dad. It's so bad, they can't imagine that anyone so wealthy could be kind, so even people who _want _to help them get threatened._ She coughed while trying desperately to suppress her tears. "Why can't people who have a lot of money use it to help other people, instead of hoarding it all for themselves and spending it on things they don't even need?"

Squall said nothing; had no answer. They'd spent the entire day walking, hanging around shopping centers and talking about everything except what had happened to them earlier that day. Yet, both of them knew the incident had weighed heavily on Rinoa's mind, and more, her purpose for being here. 

Squall wondered quietly and—he hoped—without Rinoa's knowledge, why she wasn't taking a firmer stand against her father. Why wasn't she demanding for him to release Angelo to her, demanding to be let go, herself, from his obsessive attempts at keeping her in the golden cage of the Caraway Mansion? It seemed unlike her, not to fight against something she thought was clearly, morally wrong. But it was her decision to make, not Squall's. She'd confront her father, he supposed, when she felt ready. At least for the moment, there was no hurry.

"Who knows," he muttered distantly, half-opening his eyes and staring vacantly, his thoughts focusing while his sight blurred. "Maybe someday it'll get better."

"Think so?"Blinking away wetness, Rinoa looked up at him for the first time in minutes.

"It could. Depends if enough people out there make it their business to change it." _In the end, people will always do what they think will make life easier on them, _he added to himself. _If it becomes easier to feed and educate people than it is to throw them in prison, everyone will flock to the cause. But right now, it's easier just to lock them up and forget about them. Until that changes, there will always be people like Marley and his gang._ Squall watched Rinoa's eyes glisten, and knew with a pang of regret that his thoughts had not been secret ones.

"If I were anyone else," she said quietly after a long silence, "I would start a movement right here and now." Her head bowed, her tears hidden behind closed eyelids. "But I have a different life, halfway across the world. I'm a sorceress, not a resistance leader. I have to be over in Esthar, helping to keep things straight there so the whole world stays peaceful. I can't stay here and help…I have to go back to a beautiful Garden and a shining, legendary city where no one is homeless." She looked up at him, searching his eyes for answers she knew he could not offer. "It seems like I should be happy to do that. When I think about it, it only makes me sad. Here, no one has the life that everyone has in Garden and Esthar. A strong and loving person would help if they could…" She paused for long enough to wipe tears from her eyes. "As soon as I get Angelo back," she managed, "I'm going home…away from this place. Why does that make me feel so horrible?"

Squall betrayed a slight, rare smile, a look gentle enough to diffuse any onlooker's doubt in his ability to feel compassion, despite the hard face and cold light. With a softness true to his expression, he brushed away the dampness from Rinoa's cheeks. 

"Because," he said softly, "you _are _a strong and loving person."

Rinoa sighed shakily, half in relief, half in sorrow, salt again stinging her eyes. She closed them, feeling his lips brush her cheeks to kiss her tears as they fell. She knew he tasted those tears in his heart, as well; with his connection to her, he could feel every pain, every joy and every wish Rinoa experienced. So she held him tightly, sharing the helplessness, the sadness she felt inside her. For all her magical strength, she was powerless to help the alleys of this city.

Angelo nosed his way between their knees, standing tall and looking up at them both expectantly while they ignored him. The dog made no sound. It seemed he knew of their bond, and was not offended by it. Instead he waited patiently, panting softly and keeping his ears and nose pricked for anything interesting that might occur in this relatively quiet of nights. 

A car lumbered by. A van. The dog and his two people seemed little more than colored sculptures on the sidewalk. No one walked past.

"I…I think we should go see Skip to…tomorrow," Rinoa sighed rigidly. "I don't want the chance he might see me like this." She smiled wanly. "Wouldn't be a very happy reunion of friends."

"Yeah…" _I wonder if it's safe to stay at Caraway's Mansion tonight? _Squall mulled silently to himself. He was listening to Rinoa, but his mind had wandered over the past few silent minutes, mostly into places he would rather it not go. The longer he was here, the more he was beginning to think that no place was safe.

"We should get back, anyway. It's dark out, and we don't want to run into any more…of them." Rinoa could not bring herself to use the word 'thugs' or 'thieves.' "We should at least get to someplace with a lot of people."

Squall glanced in the direction of the strip mall, wondering if Rinoa had read his mind, or she had simply been thinking about where to go in the first place. He decided not to ask. "If we go back to Caraway's Mansion, we'll be closed in. I'd rather be out here, where I can see…" He cocked his head over his shoulder, checking behind him, his body tense with a chill of paranoia.

Rinoa agreed silently, if only because she had no real preference, and because she knew Squall hated the feeling of being "caged"; though Squall was not social to begin with, an open-air strip mall milling with lots of lights and nighttime patrons would no doubt feel much safer to him than the enclosed campus of Caraway's abode. More room to move. Not so many walls to confine them.

"This way, Angelo." She beckoned to the dog as they turned to leave the spotlight of the street lamp. He willingly obeyed, taking up his usual steady trot by her side as they started off for…wherever. Rinoa wasn't sure she even cared at this point. She was tired, and the dull ache in her heart didn't want to go away. She cast Squall a sideways glance, marveling solemnly at the fact he was confident and clear enough about where he was going. She knew he was feeling her pain, as well. It never ceased to amaze her how he could handle it without feeling so spent and exhausted as she did.

Squall returned her look as they walked, the smile he'd worn not a few minutes ago still teasing at the corners of his mouth. It was a saddened joy he expressed in his eyes; he shared the weight in her heart, and he was proud, even glad to. Difficult as it could be, it was his privilege. She needn't have to bear any sadness alone.

Rinoa smiled back, still weary. But his expression gave her courage, and she picked up the pace. Maybe going to see Skip tonight wasn't such a bad idea after all. 

The Deling City Merchant's Row consisted of ten straight city blocks, teeming with stores and restaurants, with the famed (and now scarred) Galbadia Hotel crowning the end of the giant shopping strip. It was different from the market area, which was open only in the daytime; patches of people hovered around bar entrances, florescent lights buzzed in advertisement of all manner of business, from the casual to the obscene, from the practical to the luxurious. A couple stray dogs wove between the legs of pub and diner customers, snuffling about on the ground in search of tidbits. Car horns honked in friendly greeting, and in aggravated impatience, as people crossed the roads from every which where, heedless of crosswalks or the slow-moving traffic. Drunk teenagers hung out the windows of rental cars and the lesser hotels, crowing at any girl who looked interesting, insulting each other's manhood, tossing cigarette butts to the sidewalk. If one were to judge from the condition of the strip itself, it would have appeared that Deling City was no less well-off than it had been years ago.

At least here, Rinoa thought with something like relief, nothing much had changed.

They walked past the majority of the shops without pause, Rinoa keeping a handful of Angelo's mane loosely in her hand to keep him from giving into the temptation to fraternize with the restaurant strays. Squall watched everything with a distrustful eye, pacing himself carefully amidst the throng of people milling about the sidewalks. But even he couldn't resist stopping to peer curiously into the window of a weapons store, and Rinoa had to pull him away by the sleeve of his jacket to keep him from wandering inside.

Finally, after passing a number of more questionable nightclubs, they arrived at the entrance to The Gate. It was an easy place to find, as much noise as was blaring from beyond its doors. Stage lights provided most of the illumination inside, spotlighting whichever band or standup comedian might be in charge of entertaining the night's customers. Rinoa snatched up Squall's arm and pushed back his sleeve to look at his watch. It was less than an hour before midnight. Skip and his group would be up soon.

As Squall shouldered through the narrow doorway, he was stopped short of entering by a tall, broad-shouldered bouncer, who glared at him around a thick nose. "You gots an I.D, kid?"

Rinoa tried not to laugh as Squall sighed, and fished around in his left rear pocket for his rarely-used Garden identification. He handed it to the guard, who snatched it away, leered at it skeptically for a moment. Then the bouncer's eyes caught sight of Balamb Garden's SeeD emblem in the upper left corner of the card, and his previously vicious expression lost some of its macho confidence. Eyebrows raised, he handed the I.D. back to Squall. "Er…there's a 200 Gil entrance fee for non-members," he informed them hesitantly, glancing behind his unusual customers and clearing his throat. "And, uh, we don't allow pets, 'less you're blind or somethin'."

Rinoa turned around to face Angelo while Squall went about paying to get in. "Wait outside for us," she told him with a smile, scratching him once more behind his ears while he whined happily. "And stay out of the street. Go home if you get bored. We'll be here for a while." She gave him one more head scratch and stood. Angelo woofed agreeably and parked himself outside the door, turning his attention to the constant stream of passing people to entertain himself, watching the throng curiously, hoping for the occasional friendly pat from a passerby.

Squall and Rinoa finally passed the entrance and entered The Gate, with the bouncer staring, dumbly humbled, after them. 

Inside the relative darkness of the building, The Gate was a cacophony of noises, accentuated in dim blue light. Shouting, laughing, clanking glass, chairs scraping against the false-wood floor, blaring TVs and a heavy baseline all threatened to drown out the mediocre singers who currently occupied the stage. Squall passed a "please seat yourself" sign, and did his best to oblige it, eventually settling for dusting off a used table in the center of the busy place and stealing an empty chair from another table so both he and Rinoa had somewhere to sit. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and beer, and once again Squall looked at Rinoa dubiously, as if doubting the sanity of her choice in restaurants. At least there was no strip bar, and the patrons here seemed older than him for the most part, not the lot of teenage whoopers he'd seen outside. And it was a relatively clean place. Better than he would have expected any nightclub to be. Still, he spied banners on the walls, advertising drinking games on Fridays and "naked night" on Sundays. He didn't care to read the details of either one. He cast another skeptical scowl in Rinoa's direction. "You said your 'friend' works here?"

"Skip is a singer in The Gate's signature band." Rinoa sneered and leaned away as a drunk-looking man swaggered past her. She scooted closer to Squall, holding onto his arm, deciding to make it apparent that she was not available for anyone's fancies. "He's usually one of the last ones up," she went on, then admitted, "I haven't actually been inside here, before. I wasn't old enough to get in. But I've heard him and his group. They're really not that bad. They sing remakes of a lot of classic stuff and have a few of their own songs."

Squall leaned forward a little on the table, glancing at the current solo entertainer on-stage, wincing at the bad music and worse singing. His eyes fell from the spectacle. "What a life," he muttered. "Spending your nights singing to a bunch of people who aren't even listening. Cranking out lyrics that mean nothing to anyone except yourself, and pretending you don't notice that people don't care, all because you need the money. How does anyone stand it?"

Rinoa frowned. "Someone else might ask the same thing about being a SeeD. Following orders whether you like them or not, training for days on end without much rest and even less margin for error. That doesn't seem like much of a life, either."

"That's different. There's a lot more to being a SeeD than just hard work."

"And there's probably that much more to being a performer than you think." Rinoa tilted her chin up a little to assert her point. Her narrow eyes met his stolid stare and held it, undaunted.

The profound moment was broken by the waitress. "Welcome to The Gate," greeted a tall young woman with short, bleached-blonde hair. "My name's Dima. What'll you have?" She looked at Rinoa first.

"Oh, just water." Rinoa smiled the order away. "I don't drink."

_Liar. _Squall gave her yet another uneasy look. _You did at the victory celebration and this year's Garden Festival. I saw you._

_Not much, and those were special occasions._ She returned his stare gamely.

_This isn't?_

"And you, sir?" The waitress pressed, oblivious to her customers' silent exchange.

Squall sighed and gestured slightly with one hand, shaking his head. "Red wine," he growled, just loud enough to hear.

"Any particular labe—"

"I don't care," he snapped, adding under his breath, "Whatever's strongest." The fur of his jacket seemed to puff up about his shoulders. He leaned on one arm, looking like nothing so much as an indignant cat with his hackles on end.

Rinoa hid a small laugh as the waitress sauntered off. _Squall, you look positively prickly._

_You know me, _he grumbled, thoughts dripping with sarcasm. _Huggable as a hedgehog. _Squall was very aware that he'd just made an ass of himself in public once again. He hated places like this. And people asked him why he didn't get out more. But it was better than counting the seconds in Caraway's Mansion…

"So this guy has a band," he said tonelessly. "How will I tell him from the rest of them?"

"Thought you'd never ask." All-smiles now, Rinoa pushed her bangs back with her hand so they stuck straight up. "He's Zell's spitting image, except his hair is black." Laughing at Squall's blank expression, she smoothed her hair back in place. "And he doesn't have a tattoo on his face. You'll know. It's pretty hard to miss him."

With a minimal of applause, the solo singer on the stage gave way to the next in line. A slender, dark-haired woman of medium height strode onto the stage, clad in a blood-red, somewhat revealing outfit.

Squall's glanced at this newcomer. He nearly forgot to take his next breath.

_God. …Is that who I think it is?_

Rinoa, having been watching him, turned to stare at who was causing the poisonous feeling of dread that was gripping him, now. "What's wrong?"

He winced. _Why is this place filled with unpleasant memories? _He put his hand to his face as the waitress brought Rinoa her cup of water, his glass of wine. Neither of them touched their orders. _She's an ex-student from Balamb Garden, _he explained briefly, vaguely, not looking at Rinoa or the woman on the stage. _Her name's Meila._

The new singer took the mic, and her familiar voice confirmed her identity. The words to her music seemed to overflow with irony.

_She walked in_

_Day One_

_He followed her to Heaven_

_'cause that's where daisies go…_

Squall fought an angry burning in his chest, like the fear of a child who has stolen, in danger of being discovered. _So this is where she went. Damn. What have I done?_

Memories were so brutal. He had a life, now, a love, a sense of purpose. Why couldn't the past just leave him alone?

His watch beeped. It was midnight.


	4. Day 4 (part 1) Forgotten Secrets. Hidden...

****

Note:

If you're a returning reader, please be aware that I have added more to chapter 3, and you should read that before you continue here. Also, even if you have read the last update, I ask that you go back and reread it _again _(just the last scene of chapter 3, though, not the whole thing), since I added some important information to it in this update. If you've done all that, then read on, don't let me keep you any longer. :)

__

--

Day 4 – Forgotten Secrets. Hidden Talents.

Squall watched helplessly as part of his past sang and danced in front of him on stage. He said nothing to Rinoa, who resorted instead to listening to his thoughts. 

The song was a familiar one, not too old. Squall hadn't heard it often, but enough to remember it. Not an uncommon theme, either, the song of a woman who had lost her man to another woman. The tune itself wasn't unpleasant, but the words stabbed at him like a blade. _Is this where she ended up because of me?_

Despite his wish to remain unseen, Squall stared back up at the singer, his face hardening into an impassive glare. _No. People are responsible for their own choices. Not each other's. _But he didn't reject Rinoa's hand when she placed it over his, and he couldn't help the feelings of guilt that had shrouded his heart. His teeth clenched unconsciously. This sin was too old. He hadn't thought about it for nearly three years.

__

Thirteen days-a-daisy

And my life is goin' crazy

Don't tell me where he's goin'

'cause he's gone.

I can't look in the mirror

If my life gets too much clearer

I'm afraid I'll fall apart

Before too long.

Short bursts of memory flit past his eyes. Two weeks before the final SeeD exam. One night in Balamb. A weekend. A group of the students in his class had wanted to escape from the drill of the written tests. He'd tried to stay behind. Quistis had talked him into going. He was first in his class. Meila had been second. They'd been in field tests together often.

Everyone knew it was against Garden regulations to party off-campus. Breaking that rule would jeopardize their place as students. Just one mistake. One person to get caught, and they might all have kissed their uniforms goodbye. There had been no one there to watch them.

In all eighteen of them, only Seifer and Squall had stayed relatively sober.

Squall closed his eyes, replaying the memory. Meila had gotten drunk with the rest of them and passed out briefly on the floor. Concerned for a fellow student's safety, he'd taken her to the local hotel. She'd…

__

This tragedy of nature

should never have occurred…

She'd been drop-dead drunk. He'd had a few himself, not enough to make him tipsy, but enough to cloud his mind. Everyone had known Meila was taken with him, even if he never returned the affection. It had been a foolish effort on her end. Everyone knew that, too. He'd wanted no part of her, or anyone else for that matter. Taking her to the hotel and away from the bar had been a choice of what had seemed to him to be clear logic. A choice which had ended badly. Seifer had accused him of the unthinkable at that hotel…

Thirteen days-a-daisy

And my world is goin' crazy

Don't tell me where he's goin'

'cause he's gone.

Now I'm gazing out my window

I've been down, but never this low

And the whispers in the wind

Just carry on.

They'd all made mistakes. It had cost many of the students their enrollment, including Meila. Seifer had gotten out of it with a formal reprimand. Squall had been cleared of any wrongdoing, having proven he wasn't guilty of Seifer's accusations. Not guilty, not innocent, either. But it hadn't been anyone's business to know.

__

I can't go on

Like she was never there

But day fourteen come,

I'm sure that I won't care.

Squall had made a point of forgetting the incident. He'd followed protocol. He'd been disciplined for breaking Garden's rules. He'd gone on to pass the SeeD final exam. In the events following his first mission, it had been easy to forget Meila and his own embarrassment…

__

And the whispers in the wind just carry on.

And I don't want to admit my heart was wrong.

He'd grudgingly considered Meila a friend before that night, if only because she always seemed to be nearby somewhere, and he had been used to working with her. He'd always ignored her passes, refused her invitations, and it had never bothered him for an instant. He'd known she was infatuated with him. He simply hadn't given a damn. 

He should have taken the fact into account when he'd dragged her out of the bar. He should have told someone else to take her to the hotel. 

As he watched Meila now, she finished her song, hung up the mic, and departed the stage with slightly more applause than her predecessor had received. Only then did Squall dare to look at Rinoa, knowing with terrible certainty that she'd heard and seen every thought and image that had crossed his mind in the past five minutes. He found her face uncharacteristically stolid, devoid of frown or smile. Desperately, he waited for a response from her. This wasn't something he had told her before. He just hadn't thought to—hadn't remembered—it wasn't important enough—it hadn't been relevant—until now.

Slowly, Rinoa's dark eyes blinked, as if she'd just come out of a trance, and the life returned to them. She didn't look angry, or even particularly upset. But Squall could feel the sadness swell inside of her. For him, or for herself, he wasn't sure. His stare fell away. He wondered if he had simply forgotten, or if his Guardians had obscured the memory. Or if he'd made himself forget.

_I'm sorry, _the thought came from the darkest corners of his mind. There was nothing else he could say, and nothing at all he could do.

Unexpectedly, he felt Rinoa's arms wrap around his shoulders, and sat up in surprise when she leaned against him. His breath trembled involuntarily as he felt his soul similarly embraced by hers. 

A small, sad smile had creased her cheeks. _Nice try,_ she thought softly to him, _but I still love you. _Staring so closely into her eyes, Squall saw nothing but the truth of her thoughts, and despite himself, smiled just a little, too.

It wasn't within Squall's ability to cry in public. He wished he could, just now. All he could feel was a stone in his gut and a colder pulse in his chest. "How stupid do I have to be," he whispered beneath the din of the room, relying on his thoughts to carry his drowned words to her, "before I do something you can't forgive?"

Rinoa hid her face in his shoulder, hugging him tighter. "Not stupid," she answered tightly. _Just human._ She did not need to remind him that there was nothing she would not forgive him. Even betrayal, which they both knew he was practically incapable of.

Squall shifted uncomfortably, glancing around him. He tilted his head so his voice was soft in Rinoa's ear. "Do you wanna leave?" _He _certainly did. He wanted to be alone with her. He didn't want to just sit in this place, waiting for Skip and his band to surface while his own conscience gnawed at him from the past.

But Rinoa shook her head. "I've changed my plans three times today, already, just because I felt uncomfortable with the situation I was in. I don't want to make a habit of it."

"But what about—"

She silenced his protest by renewing her strong hold, hugging him for all she was worth. "Squall, please? It's important to me." Her expression begged his understanding. "I don't think I can talk about it right now. All I know is that I love you, no matter what. Is that okay?"

Squall hesitated, warring feelings of fear and relief plaguing him. _What do you mean, you can't talk about it? _

Rinoa glanced at the now-empty stage. _I just don't know how. I have to think. Don't worry so much. _Her lips pulled back in a distant smile. _You can't get rid of me that easily._

Squall trembled at the very _idea _of the implied catastrophe. _Please don't say things like that, _he pleaded, leaning heavily on the table, feeling suddenly weak with the weight bearing down on his shoulders—the least of which was Rinoa's gentle arms. 

Sighing, she nuzzled the side of his neck. "I'm sorry," she said in his ear. "I wasn't trying to scare you. It's just so much to think about…"

"I know, I know." Squall grit his teeth as he spoke past them, trying to swallow his gut, which had somehow made its way into his throat. He grimaced at the burning feeling of bile in the back of his mouth. The rising heat in his chest wasn't helping. _Rinoa, I can't take this, I need to get out of this room! _He felt suffocated, needing to shout, to hit something, lose his tears or his stomach—none of which he could do here. Stiffly, he picked up his untouched glass of wine and downed some, just to force himself to gulp the acid that was building in his heart. Images of the past, the present, Caraway, Angelo, Rinoa, himself, Garden, Meila, Marley's gang, all swam in his mind, all issues and thoughts needing to be acknowledged. He could release none of them. His head felt bloated, a bubble of chaos on the verge of exploding. He could contain it no longer. 

Rinoa frowned at the sudden well of emotion building inside Squall. _Something's wrong…_

Squall put a hand to his forehead, pressing against his scar, which suddenly burned like the day it had been drawn. His mind became a blur of thoughts even he couldn't decipher. He trembled. _Rinoa, what's happening to me! _The feverish heat in his chest expanded, and he gripped the edge of the table with his other hand, instinctively bracing himself for a release of power he hadn't realized he'd been gathering. He felt his heart burn in his chest, heard a bestial roaring in his ears that overpowered all other sound. Rigid as a board, he lost his balance, and started to keel sideways. Only Rinoa kept him from toppling to the floor.

It took her only moments to realize what was happening to him, saw the distant, intense expression in his eyes, saw the faint, telltale glow outline his body. If she didn't direct the built-up energy somewhere, her knight would tear himself apart from the inside out.

She pressed her hand against his chest, closing her eyes and searching for some place, _anywhere, _to send the power. The only direction she could think of was straight _down, _into the earth. She didn't have the time to think of another option. Without a sound, her soul wrapped around him, enveloping the energy, focusing it inside his spirit, and then releasing it in pulses, opening a floodgate of power in his soul and channeling all of it into the ground beneath her feet. 

A thousand things happened at once. The building shook, an earthquake-like tremor rocking the ground beneath its foundations. A few stage lights broke away from their clasps on the ceiling and came crashing down on front-row tables as patrons scattered in all directions to avoid being hit. Some people dropped to the floor, some sought shelter in corners or beneath other tables. Plates and mugs fell everywhere. Squall's wineglass struck the hardwood floor, stains of bloody red through shattered crystal.

Rinoa fell from her chair and tumbled to the floor with Squall still in her arms. She didn't hear the screams and shouting around them. Likewise, no one paid her any notice. Everyone was too busy trying to keep their footing amidst the terrible shaking. She slammed her eyes shut, clinging as close to her imperiled knight as possible, hand against his heart, driving the seemingly endless flow of invisible power from him into the earth.

Squall's self-awareness returned to him after he'd been pulled to the floor. Regaining his senses, the focus came back to his eyes, and he felt Rinoa clutching him. The awful heat in his chest had been transformed, rushing through his entire body like a soft fire in his blood, and then out of him, using Rinoa as a conduit of release into the bucking ground. 

__

But how is that possible, he thought blearily, staring down at himself and watching for a brief moment as crimson curls of energy bled from beneath Rinoa's hand on his chest._ I didn't…_

He decided to act now, ask questions later. Haltingly, he managed to raise himself to a crouch, and Rinoa sat up with him. Half-dragging her, he backed up against the trunk of their table as a few tiles of sheet rock fell from the ceiling, clattering to the floor where Squall and Rinoa had been only seconds ago. A heavy crash ricocheted though the room as the lights flickered out. Something heavy and hard fell on his foot. He barely noticed the shooting pain that resulted.

Sorceress and knight concentrated on working together, directing the flow of raw power away from themselves, and the city, away from anywhere it could cause direct harm. To anyone watching, they would have looked to be simply taking refuge in each other's arms, flinching away from falling pieces of roof as the building threatened to crumble around them.

As abruptly as it had begun, the shaking stopped. The constant roar of the earth quieted to a low rumble, then ceased altogether. A few more breakable items fell from shelves and still-standing tables, the last token objections of a severely offended building. A hushed murmur began to filter through the air as people debated the wisdom of trying to stand up again, fearful of another quake.

Squall released a still-shaky breath as Rinoa slumped against him. Still clinging weakly to him, she cowered closer, too tired to speak, too burned-out to think. Similarly exhausted, Squall held on with what strength he had left, blinking sweat from his eyes and leaning his forehead against Rinoa's. Minutes of blessed quiet passed. Squall wheezed painfully. His chest felt like it was encased in wrought iron. He couldn't seem to get his heart to stop pounding, and each heavy pulse sent pain radiating out through his ribs, as if the burning in his lungs wasn't enough punishment for his troubles. 

__

If that's what happens to sorceress' knights when they pen up their feelings, he heard Rinoa whisper weakly in his mind, _then we really need to figure out an stress-management program for you._

Squall closed his eyes, trying to gather what wits he had left about him. He appreciated Rinoa's ability to retain some sense of humor through all this, but he didn't share it. His face flushed, in embarrassment as much as exhaustion. A shocked feeling of anger and humiliation sent an unwelcome shudder through him. He felt like he'd been walked in on while making love. And whether or not anyone had "seen" him, he felt exposed, and tightened his protective hold on Rinoa in defiance of the sensation. His bond with her went beyond the body, or even the mind. A mating of souls, it was too intimate a connection to be shown openly to anyone. He wasn't sure what had happened to him, just minutes ago. To his knowledge, only when he released his will to Rinoa, let her command him, reach into his spirit and bring out the pure power in his life force, could a well of energy like that have formed inside him. No such thing had happened. He'd been thinking, and…it had just…_entered _him.

Somehow, something had triggered such a climax of emotion and power, that only through a reunion between them could it have been released, lest Squall might have destroyed himself from sheer inability to handle the overflow. Squall's vision narrowed as he rested. Ever since he'd come here, he'd felt like he was being watched. Now, he was almost certain. After what had happened here, he could see no other explanation. It would explain not only the uneasy feeling, but also the incident at the massive city gates, as well. A coincidence that this violation of his soul had happened at The _Gate? _He wondered. Memories had been plaguing him since he'd set foot in the city. What if it wasn't just the location?

Then there was something here, watching him, teasing his mind. 

His cold stare darkened to a vicious scowl. A ruthless protectiveness slowly crept over him, gaining in strength as he cast about the place with his mind, searching for a presence, relentlessly trying to sniff out whatever it was that had dared to interfere with his connection to his sorceress.

It was the only way he could use Rinoa in the fashion she used him, "borrowing" her ability to see into the souls, minds and hearts of others. Normally, Squall wouldn't have expended the concentration on such invasive questing. Rinoa usually kept herself closed to other people, considering mind-reading an inexcusable invasion of privacy, and completely out of the question except in extreme circumstances.

Squall considered the discreet invasion of his soul "extreme." Rinoa agreed.

So he closed his eyes, searching through the minds of the people around him with animalistic persistence. He looked for _anything _incriminating; someone who knew his name, recognized him from the attack on Edea, knew Rinoa was a sorceress. Nothing. No one in the building had a clue who he was or why he was here, what he had done in the past. No one knew, and no one cared. Except…

__

Meila. Squall opened his eyes just a hint. She was not far away. She had seen him. She had been thinking about him before this fiasco. But she knew nothing of what had happened, here. He turned his attention away from her. He would deal with that later. What was more important now was finding whoever—or whatever—it was that had violated him and Rinoa.

When it was clear no human present was responsible, Squall turned his attention to any source of energy he could sense—anything complex enough to be intelligent. Just because something wasn't human didn't mean it couldn't still wreak havoc. Again he found nothing. No one. 

Squall was angry. He hadn't felt this angry in a long time. In frustration, he screamed a mental message in every conceivable direction, to anyone or anything capable of hearing it.

__

Where are you?! I know you're watching. You've toyed with us enough! I want an answer!

He got one.

The ground began to shake again. This time, it was not in response to anything Squall or Rinoa had done. A huge, booming presence made itself painfully known in their ears and minds. A bestial screech echoed somewhere far off, and the ground continued to tremble, though not as violently as it had when the sorceress and her knight had caused it. The source of the shaking appeared to be more distant, this time, if not any less powerful.

Rinoa and Squall winced at the voice in their minds that raged over the rest of the din.

**__**

DO NOT QUESTION ME

Clutching Rinoa close to his chest as the floor rocked and the air rumbled, Squall spat back at the commanding tone, _You don't frighten me. I'll question you all I want._

****

I WILL NOT ANSWER

Who are you? Why are you interfering with us? What do you want?

Silence.

__

Who are you!

Nothing. The ground once again stopped shaking. But Squall continued to sense the lingering presence, had his mind tuned to it like a radio frequency. Whatever it was, it was still there. It was either ignoring him or choosing not to answer. 

Sickened, frustrated and tired, Squall finally retracted his awareness from the world around him, effectively turning off all notions and knowledge of anything beyond his five senses and personal thoughts. Rinoa remained curled up beside him, shaking in exhaustion. 

They began to hear people milling around them. A few flashlights came on, illuminating pieces of the powerless building. Wearily, Squall kept his eyes open, watching the waving lights and listening as people found each other in the darkness. He watched idly as Rinoa drifted into a light sleep at his side. He was content to sit and wait while everyone else in The Gate reoriented themselves. Someone was bound to come across them soon, and he didn't have it in him to stand or call out for help, nor did he particularly want to. It belatedly occurred to him that one of the larger stage lights had fallen on their table, half-crushing it. If he hadn't dragged Rinoa directly under it, they both might have been hit, either by the light itself or by flying debris. The two chairs they had been sitting in had toppled, creating a loose barricade between them and the rest of the room. A large, flat bit of ceiling leaned against the crooked table, completely obscuring Rinoa from view. He winced as a new pain shot up his foot when he tried to move it out from beneath a fallen piece of sheet rock. His ankle was badly twisted. _Feels like there's some glass in that leg, too._

Rusty old gates, thugs with knives, errant glass shards. It seemed like everything wanted to stab him, lately.

"Hey! Yo, I found someone over here! Gimme a hand, guys, looks like he might be hurt!" A bright flashlight beamed directly in Squall's eyes. Even as he flinched away from the glare, an alarm went off in his mind. The tone, if not the voice itself, was…_extremely _familiar. 

"Aw, hell, wouldja look at all this shit? This place is a _mess! _I'm gonna hafta find another joint."

Someone hefted one of the wooden chairs separating Squall from the voice, flinging it away like it weighed mere ounces. Then the other chair went sailing. Again the flashlight lanced Squall's eyes.

"You okay, man?"

Squall cringed and hissed through his teeth, "I will be…if you get that damn thing outta my eyes."

"Oh! Sorry!" Quickly, the flashlight was averted from Squall's face and placed beam-up on the floor.

Squall blinked a few times, trying to clear the green spots from his eyes so he could see the face of his "rescuer." When his eyes finally adjusted, he stared in stolid, dumbfounded surprise at what could have been Zell's twin brother offering to help him up.

A boy about Squall's age crouched with his hand extended. Despite the darkness, the resemblance to the plucky SeeD was obvious, almost sorely so. The spiny hair, sky-blue eyes, and wide, white grin were unmistakable. He looked to have the same height (or lack, thereof), and similarly built, powerful-looking without being stocky, if not as "pumped" as the Zell Squall knew. His eyebrows pulled up in the same, foolish look of impatience. Even his voice was almost identical. But there were differences. His hair was dyed jet-black, tips of purple coloring his erect bangs. He lacked Zell's tattoo. He wore no gloves. His clothing was darker, though Squall couldn't see it clearly in from his position.

It took a second longer for the Zell-lookalike to realize that Squall was not alone in his distress. "Whoa, my bad. There's someone else under there? No wonder you wouldn't move. Is she okay?"

Squall glanced at Rinoa, silently sending the Zell-lookalike's image to her unconscious mind and asking her if this was Skip. The answer came back affirmative.

"Yo, you _can _talk, right? Say somethin'!"

Finally, Squall looked up again and nodded. "She's fine. Just passed out."

The Zell-lookalike motioned to someone behind him. "C'mon, lets get 'em outta there." Then to Squall again, "Don't worry 'bout a thing." With a strong one-handed push, he knocked the thin strip of ceiling away from the table to reveal… "What the—_Rinoa? _Izzat you?!" He made as if to shake her awake, but Squall batted the arm away. Startled exclamations and oaths erupted behind the Zell-lookalike, and four of what Squall assumed to be members of Skip's band came running to join in staring.

"She can't hear you," Squall coughed, leaning a little closer to Rinoa, a forbidding arm draped protectively across her.

The Zell-twin held up his hand in a signal for his buddies to back off. "Hey, it's cool, man, it's cool. We're here to help. We know Rinny, she's our pal. If she's with you, you must be from Garden, right? Heard that's where she was holin' up."

Squall interrupted before Skip could launch into anything resembling one of Zell's rambles. "Yeah, that's right. Look, is there someplace you can take us?"

"Sure can! My apartment's right out back, baby! Well, what's left of it, anyway. We'll take you there. Nero here can carry Rinny. Don't worry, we'd never hurt 'er. Like I said, she's one of us!" Reluctantly, Squall allowed Nero, a hulking, dark-skinned fellow, to gingerly lift Rinoa from the heap. Again, Skip offered Squall his hand. "That leg looks like it's cut up pretty bad. Think you can walk?"

He nodded. "I'll try." Grasping the extended arm, Squall let Skip pull him from under the mangled table, and painfully managed to stand with the shorter boy's support; he could put no weight on his right leg. Slowly, Skip helped him maneuver across the glass- and rubble-littered room, following the other four band members through a back door to the right of the deserted stage.

__

Love, love, give me guidance! I should not have delved so deep. 

The boy has discovered me. Is it right that he reveal me, or should I remain hidden as I am? I fear I may be running out of time, either way. That fool army is on their way to make another attempt at dislodging me from sleep. I will not give up so easily. But I cannot hang onto this ancient death much longer. If nothing is done to stop these fools, they will have me, and I will be under their command. Oh, love, help me! Tell me I have more to rely on than this boy and his young sorceress. I believed in the power of love once before, and the truth reared its head and dashed every shred of hope I once stood for. How can I trust it again, and—what ho!—a love that I am not part of, no less, no more!

I shall wait, and watch. If he attempts to speak to me again, I will remain mute. I may talk to his mate. If she ventures to wish a conversation. Only then. I will give no clues. Only answers to questions deserving of them. I will open a doorway. It will be up to her to step through it.

I will do as I am meant to do. No more. No less.

"Well, all things considered, looks like it's not too bad. Hey, even my posters stayed up. You can stay in the den—just keep outta my room, and we'll all be just fine."

Squall glanced weakly around Skip's "den" as he was led in. His eyes, feeling dry and old, worked to focus on a black and white poster tacked to the far end of the small room. He blinked in languid surprise. Zell's tattoo. Black on a white background, the design was exactly the same. There were no words on the poster. Not even a copyright date. He cast Skip a suspicious look as Nero walked in carrying Rinoa. The uncanny Zell-lookalike directed his big friend to lay her on the nearby couch. "You and everyone else get outta here. I gotta take care of our guests." Squall waited long enough to wait for Nero to leave, and to hobble over to the couch himself, but couldn't resist his nagging curiosity any longer once he sat down.

"…What is this," he asked, gesturing at the poster, "a cult?"

Skip gave him an equally incredulous glance, one that hinted at injured pride. "No, man. Last time I heard, it was a band."

"What band?"

"_My _band, dumbass! The _Gate _band. Geez." Stretching until every joint in his body cracked, Skip let loose a big sigh and dusted his arms off, as if to cleanse himself of any residue Squall might have left behind. "I drew that logo myself." Looking suddenly suspicious, he squared his shoulders, seeming as ready to pick a fight as Zell did every time hotdog day rolled around. "Why're you so interested?"

__

This is too weird. "It's nothing." Wincing, Squall turned his attention to his injured leg, bending forward just enough to pull back the torn leather of his pantleg here and there, and finding a total of five fair-sized pieces of glass embedded in the flesh beneath. Scowling at the bloody mess, he tried turning his foot, only to find that, sure enough, it was too painful to move an inch. Definitely sprained. Possibly a torn ligament. Either way, he wouldn't be going anywhere fast anytime soon.

"Erm…you want me to get you a towel or somethin' for that? I got some antiseptic stuff." Skip pointed hesitantly toward the closest door—what Squall presumed to be the entrance to his room—but made no more attempt to draw attention to it. 

Squall shook his head. The glass shards, at least, he could deal with. "I can handle it."

"Y-you sure? I don't want any of your blood on my carpet, man!"

"Calm down," Squall snarled. "You're won't have to replace your floor. It just takes a second." It seemed Skip was as oddly fastidious about his living space as Zell was.

"What does?"

Squall ignored any further questions. Closing his eyes, he touched his hand to his forehead, recalling the specific magic he'd need to dissolve the glass, remove it without having to pull it out. _Esuna, _he thought the name, searching his stores. He hadn't used the spell in a long time, and it was buried deep in his mind. Then, finally, he found it, brought the magic to the front of his awareness. His hand moved away from his face, and lightly touched one of the glass shards. The magic enveloped his leg, analyzed the problem that was keeping him from healing, and took the appropriate action to solve it. In moments, the glass shards had vanished. The wounds they left behind began to bleed freely. 

Squall made good on his promise to keep the room clean. A quick cura spell closed the cuts in seconds, the blue-hued magic trailing around his body to search for any other obvious injuries. 

As Squall tested the use of his newly mended leg, Skip—well, flipped. 

"WHOA! That's one of the most awesome things I've ever seen! Never seen magic up close like that before. You do that a lot? What a light show! Where'd you learn it?"

Squall sighed. His ankle still hurt. It must have been more than just a sprain. Gingerly, he removed his boot and felt for a broken bone, but found nothing obvious. Either it was a small fracture, or he'd torn something. Or both. Either way, normal healing magic wouldn't help. "Three years of constant training will teach you to cast basic spells like that," he answered Skip's question as he put his boot back on.

Skip's expression sobered. "Oh," he muttered glumly. "That sucks."

"Do you have a bandage wrap, something I can immobilize this with?"

"Uh…nnnno." The Zell-twin shrugged. "Sorry. I got a billion bandaids. Don't think that's gonna help you, though."

Squall glanced at Rinoa, who was sleeping deeply beside him. She could heal whatever was wrong with his foot. But he decided to let her sleep. She needed the rest, after today and yesterday. "Is there anyone else in this complex that might have one?"

"We-e-ll…" Skip's eyes rolled to the side. "Meila might. She used to study medical stuff, I think. She lives two doors down, at the end of the row."

Meila. Squall almost laughed aloud in disgust at his life. Of course. What _else _could go wrong in his day? Then he remembered it was past midnight. Technically, his day was only beginning. He fought the urge to just give up and pass out beside Rinoa. What a trip this was turning into! "So," he ventured, fearing the answer, "could you go ask her for one? I don't know if my ankle is broken or not. Part of the roof fell on it." He wasn't one to cop out of something he could take care of, himself. But this was different…

Skip laughed. Long and loud. Squall wondered Rinoa didn't wake with a start at the noise. "H-ho, no! _Hell _no. The lady's a flat-on-her-ass bitch. She hates me. Says I reminder her of someone she doesn't like. Won't talk to me if she can help it, wouldn't give me a bandage if I was bleedin' to death in front of 'er."

Squall bowed his head into his hand. "I need something to wrap this with." 

"_You _wanna go take your chances with 'er? Be my guest. But I ain't doin' it. She'll eat me alive."

"Fine." _What the hell. It can't get any more awkward than this._ Using the arm of the couch to brace himself, Squall stood up, and carefully put his weight on both feet. Though his right ankle pulsed with pain, he was able to walk on it. Swallowing his pride, he limped from the couch to the door.

"Good luck," Skip called from behind as Squall let himself out. "You'll need it."

An upturned garbage can rattled outside the door of a collapsed building. Sneezing from the dust settling around him, Angelo squirmed out from between the can and the fallen awning he'd been caught under for the past twenty minutes. Shaking his bushy coat free of most of the grime, he turned his nose upward, testing the air, sneezing once more before he was finally able to clear his clogged nostrils. 

Dust and the smell of structural damage surrounded him. What his eyes couldn't see, his nose revealed; most of the buildings on the block were still standing, but the closer one came to the building Rinoa had gone into, the more destruction there was to see. 

One section of the building he stood before had collapsed completely. The lights were out all the way down the strip. Angelo spied the last of a herd of people headed away from the site of the small, but severe quake. The only other people he saw were sifting through the wreckage. They smelled of leather and metal. Security officers? 

Angelo padded across a now-silent street, crossing between two abandoned cars. He headed straight for the building he'd been told not to enter. Rinoa's command was obsolete. It mattered more that he could find her.

Her scent was easy to follow. Nose to the floor, Angelo twined between overturned tables and broken chairs, finding the place where she had lingered the longest. A chair near a table that had been crushed by a giant light fixture was saturated with her smell. But he couldn't see her anywhere. He stood up, sniffing the air. 

"Hey, pooch. What're you doin' in here?" A passing security guard who had been searching the building with a flashlight reached out and rubbed the nervous dog affectionately on the muzzle. Angelo snorted and whined, letting the man pet him for a brief time before moving away. The strange human's smell got in the way of Rinoa's. It was becoming increasingly clear to Angelo that she was no longer here. Again he tested the air, eventually gravitating toward the crushed table. Her smell was strong there, as Squall's deeper, more musky scent. 

Angelo passed a broken wine glass, burying his nose in a rubble of sheet rock. A low whine formed in his throat, and he snatched his head back momentarily at the unexpected, tart trace of blood. Carefully, he tested the smell again. Definitely familiar, it wasn't Rinoa's. The dried smears held a slightly smoky taint to it; the blood must belong to Squall. Again Angelo cried to himself. If Squall was injured, he wouldn't be as able to protect Rinoa if there was danger. But it was another trail to follow; wherever Squall had gone, Rinoa wouldn't be too far away.

He sniffed the air around him, then the floor. He followed two trails, both of them relatively new, both of them leading to the same door near a high rise in the floor. But one thing Angelo noticed puzzled him. Squall's trail was easy to follow. Rinoa's was much fainter; he could only smell it if he stood up and turned his snout to the air. Squall had left the room on foot. Rinoa had been carried out; not once did her scent touch the floor on its way to the exit.

Confused and worried, Angelo started to pick out other scents. Someone had either preceded or followed Rinoa and Squall to that door. Those smells, too, were vaguely familiar, and it was a good familiarity. This made him feel a little better. At least she had gone with friends. Still, if Squall was hurt, she could be in trouble, too. Angelo still needed to find them. 

Without further pause, he followed the trail through the open door. A lightless, narrow hallway curved around behind the stage, and ended in a heavy fire door. Angelo stopped here and stood up on his hind legs, pressing his front paws against the glass. The door was too heavy for him to push open. But the trail led beyond it. He had to get through somehow. Panting thoughtfully, he sat on his haunches, looking around him. Sometimes there was more than one way to get a door to open.

There was no light from inside the hallway, and the stars outside offered little illumination. Save for the recent trail, the walls and floor were relatively sterile, having been recently cleaned with one of the foul-smelling liquids Angelo had seen people rub floors with. Without much light and with his nose inundated with the aroma of heavy-duty floor cleaner, Angelo felt sensually blind, and took to pacing restlessly at the foot of the door, glancing up at the menacing barrier as if expecting it would open for him on its own.

A low buzz startled him. Angelo backed into the wall as an orange EXIT sign blazed to life above him. Elsewhere in the building, he felt the telltale charge of electricity in the air. His whiskers twitched at the sensation. He looked at the door and sat down.

The tops of his perked ears brushed against something. Again startled, Angelo looked over his shoulder. A lever protruded from the wall. A sign with bold-letter writing on it labeled the switch.

Angelo didn't have to be able to read the words to know what they meant. He'd seen people who traveled in rolling chairs use these levers to open doors for them. Maybe this one would open _this _door so he could go find Rinoa. Standing to the side of it, Angelo pressed his muzzle against the handle. It wouldn't budge. He couldn't remember which direction it was supposed to go—up? To the side? No good. In frustration, he put his paw up on it, trying to balance himself so he could be taller and get a better look at the device.

His weight carried the lever down. Behind him, the fire door opened on its own, as if moved by a ghost.

That solved that problem. Before the door could ease shut, Angelo slipped through it, once again setting his nose to work.

The door led outside to a short stairway that in turn ended in a yard of old pavement. Wire fences separated this area from the rest of the shopping strip's back roads. Around the corner to his right stood an old building, a two-story set of living places, from the smell of it. The trail led in that direction.

Angelo sped up to a trot, keeping his nose high to follow the scent.

A low, malevolent growl stopped him in his tracks. He licked his nose nervously as a big, black dog emerged from behind the tire of a parked car. The well-scarred fur of the rough-looking mutt's neck and shoulders was on-end, tattered ears laid flat, muzzle pulled back to reveal yellowed, well-used fangs. It stalked toward Angelo cautiously, stepping between the intruder to its territory and the apartment complex.

Angelo whined, backing up a pace and giving a slight wag of his tail. He didn't want the other dog's territory. He just wanted to find Rinoa.

The black dog—a scrawny, scruffy-looking female—didn't seem to buy the show of non-aggression. Instead it came closer, growling threateningly.

Usually Angelo would have turned and left at this point. Clearly, the alley mutt wasn't about to let him pass without a fight, and she was much larger than he was. But he stood still, looking from the brutish dog to the building behind it. That's where Rinoa was. He was sure of it. He had to get to her, had to make sure she was safe.

Angelo's muzzle twitched. A low, quiet snarl built in his throat. The mutt was mere feet away, the only thing standing between him and his best friend. He refused to be turned away now. He took a step toward the building.

The alley dog loosed a growling bark, and lunged for Angelo's throat.

_This must be it. _Squall stopped at the last door on this end of the apartment complex. Trembling apprehensively in the chill night air, he leaned against the side of the building, resting his injured ankle. The moon was huge and forbidding on the horizon beyond the city, its silver light penetrating the hole in Deling City's glow where several blocks had lost power. The soft luminance lent a ghostly sheen to the darkened strip, highlighting the rims of car bumpers and powerless shop signs in ethereal white. The wind breathed lightly on the land, whipping up stray pieces of paper and carrying them in circling currents around the streets.

The place looked like a patch of dead flesh in a fast-fading city, and staring at it, Squall couldn't help but feel a little pity for its inhabitants. What was it like to live in a city with a crumbling economy and even more international problems, watching your home wither and die around you as the days passed, like an ill-kempt garden? He shivered at the poorly-chosen metaphor, and fervently hoped he would never know the answer.

He took a breath and composed himself, standing as straight as he could and facing the door. Finding no bell to ring, he sighed and resolutely knocked. He waited, got no answer, and knocked again, a little louder this time.

He heard someone moving around inside, heard the lock click, watched the doorknob turn. The door opened just a crack. A sleepy-looking young woman peered out from behind it. Her large black eyes widened at the sight of him.

Squall looked directly back, eyes cold. What possessed him to ask his next question, he would never know. "Can I come in?"

Meila said nothing at first, just stared at him. Finally she backed away from the door, opening it wide enough to allow him through. "Sure," she muttered tonelessly. "Sure, come in." She turned away from the door and left it open, leaving him to walk through on his own.

Squall did his best not to limp, but his ankle was hot with pain, and he stumbled halfway through the entrance. Catching himself on the frame, he used it to support him until he was fully inside. He took the time to quietly shut the door before turning back toward the room—

And promptly suffered what was quite possibly the hardest slap on the face he'd ever received in his life.

Before he could recover from the blow, he'd been roughly shoved backward into the door, and almost fell when his bad leg buckled under him. Only through a good sense of balance and by bracing himself against the door did he manage to remain standing. He shook his head, reorienting himself, and glared angrily at his attacker.

Meila stood back, folding her arms in spite of his scowl. Her dark sleep-robe wavered as she hissed her rage at him. "I'm surprised you had the nerve to show your face here." A few moments she glowered at him as he just stared back, wordless. A cruel sort of humor crept into her pale face. She raised a thin eyebrow as she looked over him. "You look like hell."

Squall tried to stand a little straighter, though his foot complained mercilessly. "Yeah, well…actually, I was gonna ask if you had a bandage wrap. Someone told me you might have one." He indicated his foot. "Sprained my ankle."

"I can see that." Unmoved, Meila brushed a strand of long brown hair from her face. "So you limped all the way over here just to ask for a bandage?" She sneered. "You're breaking my heart. Do you really expect me to believe your bullshit?"

Snarling, Squall looked at the floor and tried to contain his frustration behind clenched teeth. "Do you have the wrap, or not? If you don't, I'll go somewhere else."

Finally seeming to take interest in his situation, Meila stared at his foot. Shrugging, she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I've got one. Looks like you've got more than a sprain though, from the way you're standing. Wait here."

Squall leaned his head back against the door, closing his eyes and trying not to make a sound while Meila went to rummage through her cabinets. He was beginning to wish he'd just stayed with Rinoa. He could have waited for her to wake up. She would have had no problem fixing his ankle. He wondered if he had used it as an excuse to make himself come to Meila's door. What did he think he could accomplish here? He'd gotten her kicked out of Garden, humiliated her in the process. The damage was done. He could only make things worse. He briefly considered if he shouldn't have himself tested for some kind of emotional masochism. It seemed his choices were always dumping him into situations he didn't want to have to deal with. Did he…?

Meila came back with a bandage wrap and a flat strip of plastic to use as a brace. She walked over and handed both to him, then backed away and pointed to the wooden table in the center of the den. "Sit there if you want. I might as well clean up the kitchen while I'm awake. It hasn't been done in days." Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched off into the kitchen, leaving Squall to deal with his own problem. Angry sounds of clanking plates and running water erupted from beyond the wall after she'd disappeared.

Squall made it to the small square table by virtue of the wall's support. Pulling a chair, he sat down heavily and placed the bandage and splint on the table's edge. He tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere as he went about removing his boot and sock. He thought about the voice he had spoken to during the quakes. Though he had not heard it in the sense he could hear verbal speech, there had been a distinctly feminine feeling about the tone. The few words it had spoken had seemed deep and old. 

Carefully, he set the plastic strip to keep his injured ankle from moving, and began the tedious process of wrapping the bandage. The sense he had gotten from the voice was a familiar one, not at all unlike the booming in his mind when a particularly powerful Guardian Force was speaking to him. Whatever it was, it had not been at all human. The arrogance in its words and the surprise it seemed to show at Squall's overt defiance of its authority again pointed to the idea of a Guardian. It would line up with the power Whatever-it-was had to impose itself on something so complex as the connection between a sorceress and her knight. But, apart from the Minotaur brothers, there were no Guardians known to inhabit this area. Granted, a GF could travel wherever it wanted, anytime it wanted. But Squall got the impression somehow that this…thing…had been here for a long while. At least long enough to have watched him the entire time he had been in Deling City. He wasn't sure he wanted to stay and find out the details. The more time he spent here, the more he wanted to leave. He had nothing to do with what was going on in this place. But Rinoa had to get Angelo back. Squall was determined that she would, too, even if he had to intervene to make it happen. What Caraway was doing was wrong. _Everything _was wrong, here. He felt like he was sitting on a box of explosives. The way trouble seemed to follow him around, he might be just the stray spark this city needed to blow itself straight to hell.

Well, at least it made his life interesting.

More of his "interesting" fate walked back through the kitchen door as he finished wrapping his ankle. Wordlessly, Meila handed him a pair of scissors to cut the end of the tape with. He took them, nodding an acknowledgement would have been hard-pressed to be seen as a thank-you.

His host stood over him, arms folded, as he replaced his sock and boot. When he tried to get up to leave, she pushed him back into his chair. "No, you don't. You're not going to come lurching in here, patch yourself up with _my _supplies, and leave without saying a thing."

Reluctantly, Squall sat back, not quite looking her in the eyes. "There's nothing to say," he growled, knowing it was a weak defense.

"Make something up."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know." Backing up against the kitchen door frame, Meila looked away from him and seemed to hug herself for warmth. Her voice sounded choked, like she was fighting tears. "How about a lie? 'What a surprise, Meila, didn't think I'd find you here.' Or, 'Long time, no see, friend.' How about that?" Her sharp glare returned, pinning him. "You took the same courses as everyone else. What's a nice, clean, social lie? Come on. Make yourself look casual, Squall. Fool me into thinking you're just an everyday guy. You were the head of your class. Let's hear an 'A.' Let's see that one-hundred percent, first-rate performance." Her hands went down by her sides. She trembled.

Squall stared back into the eyes of judgement, pokerfaced. He wanted desperately to get away from her, to avoid having to once again realize the reality of his own sins. He didn't want to carry the pain he'd caused others on his own shoulders. No one was perfect. He could accept the fact that he had been in some way responsible. He just didn't want to punish himself for it all over again, didn't want to relive a past that could not be changed. What good would it do? He could only learn from it and move on. He could not mend other people's broken hearts. His eyes strayed to the door. He was not coward enough to try and run for it, much as he wanted to. But what else could he do?

He motioned to the chair nearest him. "Sit down," he said levelly, and waited.

At first it looked as though Meila would stand there forever simply for the sake of defying him. Then, reluctantly, she relaxed somewhat, breathed, walked to the table, and sat down. She sat upright with her hands on he knees, staring straight ahead like a pale-faced idol.

Squall closed his eyes, thinking. Silence filled the room.

"So that's it?" Meila blurted, tapping a finger on her knee. "You don't wanna say anything? Even now, you don't wanna talk? No, 'I'm sorry about what happened,' or 'I was wrong.' I guess it was a little too much to hope for when I saw you standing at my door, huh?"

Squall's scowl hardened. He flicked his wrist at the air, as if swatting at a fly. "I didn't do what Seifer said I did."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. But you got drunk along with everyone else."

"No I didn't." Squall had never purposely gotten drunk for any reason. People acted stupid when they were drunk. He never wanted to be included in the list of idiots who had danced around in their underwear because they were too hot to stand their shirts and too fuzzy-headed to care. In the case of the night in question, he'd been something of a wallflower, keeping to himself in his booth while the others partied around him. It was more a case of inattention than anything else. He'd been irritated at being dragged along, and lost himself in his thoughts. He just hadn't noticed…every time he'd drained half his mug—a slow process, since he didn't particularly like beer, or anything else that remotely resembled human urine, for that matter—someone would refill it. He'd never thought to tell them to stop. He'd been too busy mulling over how moronic everyone else was acting. By the time Meila had passed out, about six hours into the ordeal, he had felt groggy and overheated. Still, no one else had helped her off the floor. He'd seen no reason not to get her out of the place, and it had given him an excuse to leave. It had seemed like sound logic at the time.

"Well, fine," Meila spat, losing her meager store of patience. "You didn't come onto me, and you weren't drunk as a pig. That was my crime. You just had enough sudsy to throw yourself off a little." Her fingers curled, cutting into her palm. "_All _you had to do was tell them that, tell them what _really _happened, and it would have saved me the _humiliation_. It might have cost you your career, but you were just as guilty, anyway. You could have at least done that much. But no, _you _decided you fight. You told them _exactly _what _I _did. Not a word about _you_."

Tired of having his actions repeated back to him, Squall sliced at the air with his arm, as effectively cutting her tirade short. "I had no _idea _what that would lead to."

A junior court-martial. Seifer had contested Squall's story, implying that Squall had used Meila's vulnerability to satisfy his own gratuitous desires. Squall had never been accused of anything so heinous in his life. He'd never take advantage of _anyone _like that. He hadn't encouraged anything. 

In fact, he'd _stopped _it. Too late, but he had. He had stopped Meila, who'd "miraculously" awakened once he'd gotten her to the hotel room. He remembered, he'd laid her carefully on the hotel bed, and had been about to leave her when she'd opened her eyes and called out to him…

What followed had been the source of whispered controversy in the Garden until the war with Ultimecia.

Neither Squall nor Meila had been able to give a clear account about what transpired. Seifer asserted he'd seen the whole thing. The picture he'd painted was one in which Squall was the monster, and Meila the innocent victim. Meila rejected his claim as fervently as Squall had. But while Meila had maintained she remembered nothing, Squall had told a rather different story.

He'd explained to Cid and a host of judiciary SeeDs how Meila had behaved in that hotel. In defending himself, he'd subjected her to an embarrassing investigation. He'd been indirectly responsible for getting her dismissed from Garden.

Squall's fists clenched as he remembered that day. He'd never wanted to go in the first place. It hadn't been his choice, not completely. There were extraneous circumstances. He'd been accused of something he hadn't done. He'd had a right to defend himself. He'd acted according to what he'd been asked to do.

He'd never apologized to her. He'd discarded her from his mind and gone on with his life. He'd never given any thought to what had happened to her after she left. 

Now he was here, facing her again, and he was regretting every second. Meila scoffed at his poor excuse. "You betted that they wouldn't ask you how far you _let _me go," she barked with increasing volume. "They didn't. They saw only what I did. You did just what you always do—whatever you please, and everyone else can go screw themselves."

"I wasn't trying to ruin your life!" Squall snapped. "But I had a right to defend mine. It makes no _sense_ to apologize for what I said. There's nothing I can do about it now."

"But you could have, _then! _You didn't. I got dismissed. You stayed. You gambled, I lost."

"_I _gambled?"

Seemingly satisfied that she'd gotten such an abrupt reaction out of him, Meila tilted her chin up and stared triumphantly down her nose at Squall's startled expression. "That's right. I got the short end of the stick because _you _were too selfish to admit your own mistakes." Fearlessly, she approached him, taking the edge of his open jacket and turning it to the light to the light, revealing the thumbnail-sized SeeD insignia embroidered near the top of the zipper. Her face took on a look of utter disgust as she released the article and stepped back. "Look at you…SeeD…" Her face twisted in a sneer. "You don't deserve that emblem. You're just as cold as you ever were. Squall, you make me wanna puke."

The room became empty of anything beyond sulfurous animosity. Even the air and the silent light that drifted in from the kitchen and windows seemed hollow. To Squall, this place had become suddenly too dark for his liking. He could say nothing to brighten the decaying mood, so remained silent. He only sat in his interrogation chair, in the shadow, staring at Meila, who stared back, wordlessly daring him to argue with her, as he likewise refused to grant her the right to trounce on his dignity.

"Nothing to say, huh?" Meila muttered, almost too quietly to hear. "Well, isn't that typical? You haven't changed at all. Not one damn bit."

"Meila…" Squall leaned his face into his hand. "If I could take it back—"

Snorting rudely, Meila slammed her fist against the wall, decapitating Squall's sentence. "_Don't _even start." Her voice burned in his ears. "_Don't _tell me you would have taken it back." She pointed sharply at him. "If you'd taken it back, you wouldn't have gone on that mission and met that girl you're so attached to over there." Squall's second incredulous look seemed to please her. "Don't think I wasn't part of the crowd when you tried to take Sorceress Edea," she purred, waving in the general direction of the city gates. "I'll admit that was a pretty nice trick you pulled off, charging in there after you'd trapped her. But I saw you get nailed, too. I saw that girl on the float with you. Found out later that she's General Caraway's brat. He's the one who hired you, I hear." Brief silence. "Guess she found a way into that dark heart of yours. Well, kudos to her. I'm sure you're real dedicated."

Not sure if she was being sarcastic or not, Squall's scowl wavered between anger and indifference. He reminded himself that Meila had no idea what she was flaming. She was too wrapped up in her bitterness, she would say most anything to get a reaction from him. He dared not respond. It seemed nothing he could—or would—say was satisfactory to make up for her suffering. He lowered his gaze to the floor, remorseful, but unwilling to acknowledge the emotion. He'd had his reasons. He had nothing to apologize for.

Meila's next words to him surprised him, her voice having lost some its hardness. "…I honestly hope you two are happy together." 

For a moment, Squall wondered if he'd misjudged her disposition, but the respite was momentary. Within the next few syllables, her acid tongue had returned, and he found himself disarmed; he had let down his guard, taken the bait and dared to think for a moment that she might have been about to forgive the sins and release him from this impasse. Instead he listened in jaded silence as she took the opportunity to tear at his raw guilt.

"But don't you tell me you're sorry. Don't you _dare _tell me you would take it back." Her scowl deepened when she saw him wince. "That's just a lie, made up to make me feel better. You always hated it when people did that to you. So don't you start doing it to me. You just stay there and don't say anything, like you normally do. Because there's not a damn thing you _can _say." Pointing at the door, she backed away toward her room, and jerked her head toward the exit. "Go enjoy your life, Squall. And think about what you did every time things get just a little too good to be true. That's all I want from you. Don't even think about handing me sympathy." She gave an aggravated toss of her brown hair, faded red light from the window chasing the edges of each blade-like lock, blood on her ruthless words. Her eyes zeroed in on him, she closed in for the kill. "You can't offer me something you don't have." 

Cornered by the predatory threat of her bite, Squall stayed very still. When it was obvious this old beast had finally broken off her attack, he went back to contemplating the floor, lending most of his attention to the edge of the room where the wood met the base of a blank wall. He sat there, breathing, hiding his expression behind the shadows of weeping bangs. "…I wish you'd thought about that three years ago."

Meila froze in place, stricken. She hadn't expected Squall to speak. She almost forgot to think about his words, so stunned that he'd said anything at all. When his sentence finally registered, she shook her head, narrowing her eyes to slits, aghast. "W…what?" Her own question was breathless with shock.

Squall looked away from the floor. It was Meila's turn to be immobilized with a stare. But he didn't seem angry with her. Instead his voice was quiet, calm, maybe even gentle. As such his words cut her deeper than if he had stood up and shouted. "You know, this whole thing isn't really about you getting dismissed from Garden. That just made it worse. What really hurt you was that I refused you…and even more, I refused to understand." Careful not to move too quickly, he stood up and balanced himself with one hand on the table, facing the door with his side to her. After he was sure of this footing, he turned his head to look at her. "I was in the wrong place at the right time. I know I'm at fault, too…but the end result was inevitable, after what happened. I just wish you'd realized then that you can't take love from someone who never had any to give you." Slowly, he made his way to the door, trying his best not to limp. Still, he had to stop to rest once he'd reached it, put one hand flat against the wood and bowed his head until it was level with his shoulders. He closed his eyes for a moment, then spoke again as he stared at the warped plaster of the doorframe. "We both lost something that night. The difference between us is that I kept what was really important to me. You lost everything that meant anything to you." Wearily, he made as if to look over his shoulder, but his stare never quite made it past his supporting arm. "Sex is a fickle thing, Meila. You can't judge someone's seriousness by the way they accept you. …You can by how they reject you, though."

Meila had taken to falling back against her own door, gnawing on a knuckle in an attempt to keep herself from crying. Her efforts only succeeded in making her tears silent ones. She struggled for many seconds to say something of her thoughts, but it was like trying to speak past mud in her throat. Finally, after many failed attempts in which her lips moved but no sound came out, she managed a few meek, choked breaths of speech. "I…I thought, maybe…if I could make you see what it meant…to me, I could…get you to open up. …I didn't plan on it. If I had been thinking…clearly, I… I just wanted…to reach you, somehow. I thought I might be able to do that, if…" She trailed off, not sure where she had been going with her words, less certain still of where she was inside her mind. Everything was so unpredictable, and the chaos in her brain was becoming so thick, it was threatening to halt her senses altogether. 

There was little outward reaction from Squall, either to her words or to the silence that followed. He leaned on his shoulder against "his" door, facing the wall, away from Meila. "A person is a lot deeper than what you see on the exterior," he said after a while. "You can try to scratch the surface, but you can't touch what's inside." He folded his arms in thought, shifting his weight slightly so he didn't put as much weight on his bad ankle. "Not unless that person lets you."

"I suppose you'd know a lot about that, wouldn't you?" The question wasn't a particularly serious one.

His answer was. "Yeah…I know a few things." He ignored the skeptical look she gave him. "I know that you can't deal with the pain completely by yourself, and I know how a single choice can determine if you live out your life in misery or happiness. I know that love doesn't always have to have a reason. I know what it's like to have to accept that by putting your trust in someone, you risk losing everything." His gaze strayed to the window, watching the moon's tireless patrol across the sky. "I've been out there," he whispered, not sure what exactly he meant, if he was speaking to Meila or to himself. His eyes took on a glassy sheen in the soft lunar glow. "A lot of things have changed."

Watching him, Meila blinked tired eyes, rubbed at the last of her tears, and took a deep, cold breath. "Including you?" she asked.

Squall nodded once, slowly. "I think so."

"Squall…I wasn't as drunk as I acted, that night."

"I know." A short pause convinced him to ask, "You faked passing out, didn't you?" He didn't have to look at her to know the answer. Her silence told him enough.

"I knew you'd do what any good captain would do. Article 24, line 5."

Squall almost laughed. She still remembered the Garden Code. That particular creed was an easy line to recall. He recited it aloud: "If a squad member becomes drugged or intoxicated, he or she is to be transported by the fastest available means to Garden, or in the case such action is not possible, the nearest friendly residence, and confined in said location until the effects of the mind-altering substance subside." He shook his head, hiding a sour smile. "Just doing my job, I guess." Regaining his composure, he glanced over his shoulder at Meila. "Rinoa is always telling me I'm too stuck on protocol. I guess she's right…"

"Rinoa? Is that her name?"

Squall stood a little taller, finally holding his head high enough to allow his face to be seen from Meila's perspective. Once more, he turned his eyes on the window, regarding the giant moon with a solemn reverence that even Meila could recognize in his cold eyes. He whispered his answer to the night beyond the glass. "That's her name."

"How'd she manage it?"

He turned so that his back was against the door, so he wouldn't have to look over his shoulder to see her. "Manage what?"

"You."

His response was a small smile, a pleasant one, a shock to behold. She had never seen Squall smile. Ever. The expression seemed so out of place on him, Meila briefly questioned if it was indeed Squall she was speaking to. Any moment, she half-expected him to vanish into the moonlight, an apparition of her overactive imagination. When he turned a strangely un-callous stare on her, though, and she was able to look into his eyes, she knew he was real. For a moment, she saw no mask, no soulless brick wall. A soul rested behind that face, and a deep warmth crept freely into those icy eyes. 

All this at the mere mention of this girl's name. Was the word alone enough to make him drop his defenses? Meila wondered that she had misjudged Squall's feelings for Caraway's daughter. What she saw in his eyes now confirmed it. Somehow, clearly, this girl Rinoa had pierced his armored exterior, straight through to his heart. For an instant, Meila saw happiness in his eyes, and felt her heart flutter with guilty pain. How could she scorn a young woman for taking what Meila had so coveted, when Rinoa could accomplish a miracle like this simple, honest, beautiful smile? What right had she to denounce the daughter of a Galbadian general, when the girl had somehow found a way to give Squall this simple blessing? Meila had once sought to do the same, but every attempt had been a miserable failure. "W-well?" she stammered, needing some kind of verbal answer to the question to free herself from the entrapment of his eyes.

"I guess she just wouldn't give up."

Meila swallowed a lump in her throat and force herself to keep her voice steady. "Neither did I…what's the difference?"

"…I don't know." In an instant, the comfortable smile was gone, replaced by a thoughtful calm. "Words never meant that much to me. I guess it was more what she did than anything she ever said. She…offered me a different perspective." Squall shrugged his fur collar closer about his shoulders. "She loves life. She can…fill you with it just by looking at you, whether you like it or not." Another smile flit past his face, but this one was fleeting, and vanished again before Meila had the chance to see it clearly. "In some ways, she was everything I'd forgotten how to believe in."

Meila shivered, a cruel knowledge slowly seeping into her heart, despite her every attempt to deny it. Try as she might, she could not ignore a fact of life both she and Squall had bitterly agreed on. She had wanted to show Squall happiness. 

But one could not give what one did not already have.

She closed her eyes to prevent more tears from falling, feeling naked under Squall's new stare. She might as well admit it. It didn't matter much at this point. "It's just that…in three years, I thought I'd be able to forget…and now you're here again, and seeing you just…what I feel hasn't changed."

A sudden snarl rose in Squall's throat, and came out in his voice as he took a plaintive step toward her. "Don't do this to yourself."

"No?" She smirked weakly, shoulders shaking, barely managing to keep from breaking down in front of him. "It's not like I can just shut it off! If only I could."

Frustrated, Squall sighed. His voice got louder, a little angry, a little scared. "I don't wanna be responsible for someone _else's _self-torment."

Meila's composure snapped. Her eyes opened to glare at him, releasing pent up tears. "You already _are!_"

Squall's eyes hardened once more. He said nothing.

Trying uselessly to quell her shaking breath, Meila pressed herself closer to the door, as if she could somehow fit herself into the jamb. A humorless, pain-filled smile formed from her blushed lips. "Listen to us. Fighting like we're married." Then she started to laugh, a terrible, agonized sound, but for all the world, she couldn't keep herself from doing it. "I guess you're right. I should just let it go…even if I had been able to start something with you, it would've ended up just like this, wouldn't it?"

Seeming to consider this for a moment, Squall glanced at the window again, then nodded. "Probably." He clutched his fist to his chest. "I'm not out to hurt people. I just wanna live my life."

Meila seemed about to say something else, when their tense conversation was interrupted by a loud commotion outside. Squall looked over his shoulder at the door, tensing as though readying for battle. Meila stopped crying immediately and mirrored his example. They listened for a few minutes to the sounds of loud snarling and yelping below them, somewhere close. Meila maintained an aloof silence. She didn't look particularly concerned.

Squall glance at her. "What is that?"

"We have a lot of stray dogs," she answered blandly. "Sometimes they fight over turf."

About to dismiss the matter, Squall nodded slightly. Then something in his mind clicked. His brow furrowed. _Stray dogs…_ "Damn!"

Before Meila could question his outburst, Squall whirled and rushed back to the exit. He fumbled for a moment with the knob, then flung the door open and rushed outside, moving as fast as his injured foot would allow. He stopped and looked over railing to the parking lot below and stared at the scene. 

Black-alley fury forced its enemy to the ground, angry yellow fangs bearing down on soiled and bloodied fur that had once been white. 


End file.
